Into the Dark
by rainbow-dango
Summary: Beckett is diagnosed with brain cancer. Set one month after Always/After the Storm.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hello, fanfiction world. Welcome to my fic. I hope you like it._

_But first: I would like to thank __**toobusyshippingcaskett**__ on tumblr. She proof-read (beta-d, you could say) this story for me and is awesome and wonderful and made of rainbows and sunshine. I cannot thank her enough._

_Edit 2/7/13: The song in the (new) summary is Hospital by Lydia._

_Disclaimer: Ha. You're funny. Castle isn't mine. Do I look like AWM to you?_

* * *

Prologue

August 21, 2018

2191 Days After

There's something kinda poetic about it. The way the seasons pass, but her grave remains the same. Years go by, but the headstone looks the same as it did the day after she was buried. Time moves forward, but he will never stop missing her.

"We're going to see Mommy." The little girl's father doesn't know if it's a question or statement.

The girl is no older than five. Her long, dark hair is pulled into a ponytail and she's wearing her favorite dress, flowy and navy blue. She has the same autumn eyes as her mother, wide and full of light. She's holding her father's hand as they walk through the graveyard, little fingers curled around her daddy's much larger ones.

Nicole Castle looks up at her dad. "Right, Daddy?"

"Right, sweetie," he replies quietly.

Nicole has never seen her mother's grave. She's been hearing stories about her mom for years, but this is the first time Richard Castle has taken his daughter to the cemetery.

"Mommy was nice, right?" No matter how tales she hears, she always asks questions about her mother.

"Very, very nice," Rick replies.

"And pretty, right?"

"Like a princess from one of your books." Rick says sincerely, then smiles. "You don't get your good looks from me, kiddo."

Nicole gives a soft giggle, then says, "I look like Mommy?"

So, so much like Mommy.

"Yeah, just like her." Rick says softly.

"Wow," Nicole says in an almost reverent way that makes Rick smile a little.

It's almost impossible, how much she looks like her mom – her wavy, chocolaty hair, her green eyes, her nose, her mouth, even the shape of her face. She's her mom in miniature – in appearance only, though. Her personality is all Castle - crazy, funny, creative, and big-hearted.

A perfect mix of her parents.

"Mommy was smart too, right?" Nicole continues.

"Super smart," Rick answers. "She was great at noticing things other people didn't."

"And strong?" Nicole asks. That's a word people always call her mommy, when they tell Nicole about her.

"Yeah. Well, no. Her body was strong, but her mind was even stronger. Your mom was a real tough cookie."

Nicole grins, and continues. "Was she happy?"

It's too innocent a question to have so much weight; tears press on his eyes.

"Oh, honey, she was very happy." Most of the time. "You're happy when you're with Uncle Javi and Uncle Kevin, right?"

A grin spreads across Nicole's face and she giggles. "Yeah. They're silly."

"Yeah, they are, and they made really your mommy happy. And so did Auntie Lanie and Grandpa."

"And you?"

"And me," Rick replies with a lump in his throat. He forces a smile for Nicole's sake.

"And her name was Kate Beckett, right?" Nicole asks. "Not Castle."

"That's right, kid," Rick says.

"Daddy, why didn't Mommy wanna be a Castle?"

"Because she liked the name Beckett better." He lies. But it's not like Nicole is old enough to understand.

Nicole nods. "Beckett is a pretty name."

Just then, they reach her grave. Nicole stops, wide eyes taking in the sight. This is all that's left of the nice, beautiful, smart, strong, happy mommy she's heard all about – this hunk of stone.

He can only imagine how crushing that must be for her.

Oh, God, he's an idiot. He should take her home, come back when she's older. Much, much older.

"Mommy," Nicole breathes.

"We can leave if you want," Rick suggests quietly. "Come back another day."

"No, no," Nicole insists, shaking her head like that's the worst thing ever.

Nicole releases Rick's hand.

After a moment of silence, Nicole walks cautiously to the headstone. She sits on her knees and reaches out, starts to trace her mother's name.

"K – A – T – H – E – R – I – N – E," Nicole says softly. "B – E – C – K – E – T – T. Right?"

Beckett. B – E – C – K – E – double T. Her voice is still so clear in his mind, even after so many years.

She didn't have a middle name – some weird family tradition.

"Yeah," Rick says softly.

Rick walks over to Nicole as her hand falls to her lap. She leans against his leg, neither of them taking their eyes off the grave.

Katherine Beckett. November 17, 1979 – August 21, 2012. Amor vincit omnia.

August 21. That's today. She died this day, six years ago.

He remembers every detail of that morning. He'll never forget.

"Daddy?" She says softly.

"Yeah?" He breathes back.

"Why did Mommy leave us?"

Rick's heart twists in his chest at the girl's quiet question. He tears his eyes away from the grave, looking down his daughter. A little girl missing her mommy – like mother, like daughter.

"She was very sick, sweetie." He tells her.

The way Kate died is something Rick has yet to tell Nicole. She's too young, he's been telling himself. Too young to understand what cancer is and how it ate away at Kate's brain, taking her strength and spirit before taking her life.

But she's five now. She's old enough to be able to comprehend the simplest details of her mother's illness.

"Sick?" Nicole asks, her voice barely audible.

"She was really sick in her brain." Rick explains.

"She was crazy?" Nicole asks, alarmed, louder than Rick expected. Who the hell told his five-year-old sick in the brain meant crazy?

"No, no, no, honey," he says quickly. "She had this thing called a tumor. I guess – it's – " he didn't know how to explain it. "It's sort of like an organ, but it's very, very bad."

"What's an organ?" Nicole's voice is quiet again.

"Your brain, your heart, your stomach. They're all organs. A tumor is sort of like an organ, only bad." Kind of. A little. Maybe.

"A bad organ? Like some germs are bad and some are good?" Did she learn that in the school? Clever kid.

"Exactly," Rick says. "And sometimes, tumors just sit there and do nothing. They get removed and it's not a problem. But there are some tumors that have a horrible sickness in them, a sickness called cancer."

"And Mommy had that." Nicole concludes.

"Right," Rick confirms. "She had it in her brain, and it . . . it took her away after just two months."

"I turned five two months ago," Nicole whispers.

"That you did," Rick agrees. "It's not a long time, is it?"

"Kinda," Nicole breathes.

They sit in silence for a moment as Nicole wraps her skinny around Rick's leg, holding him tightly. She's always clingy when they talk about Kate, burrows into his chest holding fistfuls of his shirt or wraps her arms around one of his. Not that he minds – he likes having her close when they talk about his wife.

"Do you miss her?" Nicole asks finally.

"Every day," he responds truthfully.

"Me too," Nicole murmurs. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell me the story?"

"The story?"

"About Mommy's cancer."

Rick sighs. Of course she wants the story – she's his daughter, through and through.

"Alright. It's not a very interesting story, though, kid." There's only so much he can tell her, so little that she'd understand.

"I wanna know," Nicole says, softly stubborn.

"Well, it starts on a cold, rainy night in June –"

"My birthday month?" Nicole cuts him off.

"If you want to hear the story, you can't interrupt." Rick tells her sternly.

"Sorry. It starts on a cold, rainy night in June." Nicole starts the story again for him.

Rick continues, telling Nicole a child-friendly version of what happened to her mother.

He'll never forget the night she told him. They were sitting on the couch, bodies angled toward each other, knees touching.

_What's wrong, Kate?_ She looked more terrified than he'd ever seen; he could see the helplessness and fear in her beautiful, beautiful eyes.

_Castle, I . . . I have cancer._

The beginning of the end.

* * *

_A/N: Review my story, maybe? That doesn't fit. Never mind. Review anyway? I really hope you liked it. More will be coming soon._

_P.S. I know you're reading this, Jordann. I know you want to review. :-)_

_- Ellie_


	2. Chapter One

_A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews! I know you all must be confused about Nicole (she was born after Beckett died, what?), but there is an explanation for it, I promise. If you guess it, you can have a million virtual cookies. Thank you all for reading, I hope you like this chapter._

_P.S. I won't always update this fast, but I just had to give you all another chapter. You're welcome. :-)_

_Disclaimer: Yeah. No._

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Chapter One

June 10, 2012

72 Days Before

_ They were sitting on the couch, bodies angled toward each other, knees touching._

What's wrong, Kate?_ She looked more terrified than he'd ever seen; he could see the helplessness and fear in her beautiful, beautiful eyes._

Castle, I . . . I have cancer.

_ The beginning of the end._

* * *

She'd never seen him look so terrified and stunned. Like he'd just been told the world was ending.

"What?" He asked disbelievingly, lightning flashing as he spoke.

"It's a malicious brain tumor. I think it's called a brainstem glioma." She continued quietly. "It's . . . inoperable. Terminal."

"T-terminal," he stuttered the word. "Kate –"

He said her name so desperately, a plea for this horror to be a lie, a joke. For her to grin and say, _Oh, Castle, you're such an easy mark, aren't ya?_

If only.

He reached out, curving his palm against her cheek. A single tear escaped and he wiped it away with this thumb. She placed her hand over his.

There was a short moment of silence.

"How long?" He asked eventually, voice just above a whisper.

"No more than a few months." She replied, just as quiet. She watched his heart break – it was clear in his eyes, written all over his face.

"A few – a few – _months_?" He stammered, voice normal volume, a little higher than normal. "Kate – there – there has to be something – anything –"

"Castle," she interrupted. His stuttering was heartbreaking. After all she'd done, she'd been making a conscious effort to stop hurting him, but here she was, causing him pain once again. "There's nothing I can do."

She was such a liar. But the chances of chemo working were so slim –

"I – there's really nothing?" He asked, quiet again.

"No."

_Yes._

She was doing it again. Lying. When had it ever gotten her anywhere? When it had ever not blown up in her face?

Not. Once.

But she didn't want him to know there was another way. Not when she'd decided that it wasn't worth it – twice the amount of suffering for a treatment that had more than 50 percent chance of not working? That wouldn't save her no matter what? No thank you.

Thunder roared outside, bringing her back to reality. Castle reclaimed his hand – she'd forgotten it was on her cheek.

Castle sighed, soft and hurting and miserable. "Who else knows?"

His voice was steady, so different from the stammering. He'd composed himself – well, mostly. As blank as he made his face, his eyes betrayed the lingering denial and pain.

"Besides us, just my doctor," Kate told him.

Castle nodded. "You're going to tell everyone else tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she answered.

The boys, Lanie, her dad. Tomorrow, she was going to change their lives forever. Hurt the people she never wanted to hurt, the people she loved.

Castle, her friends, her father – they'd been so caring and patient and kind with her, and how did she repay them? By ripping a hole in their worlds, by getting a damned brain tumor and _dying_.

_This is what you get when you let people in._ A nasty voice in her head said. _You hurt them. You always hurt them._

Castle opened his mouth to say something – another question, probably. But Kate interrupted by suddenly getting to her feet.

"I . . . I'm sorry . . . I have to go," she said, stumbling and falling over words, before quickly making a beeline for the door.

"Kate, hey," Castle said, confused, jumping up to follow after Kate.

Kate was reaching for the door handle when Castle grabbed her wrist, the one by her side. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong.

"Castle, let me go," she growled.

"Kate, what are you doing?" Castle asked, perplexed. He thought she was done running away. She'd thought so too.

The number of promises she'd broken recently was starting to get alarming.

"Trying to leave," she replied, trying to again to yank her wrist away. "_Let me go_, Castle."

"No," he said firmly. "I know you're scared –"

"Castle," she cut him off. "I just . . . I need some time to myself, okay?"

Going to Castle's had been instinctive. She hadn't even thought about it, just drove on autopilot (which, in hindsight, probably hadn't been the best idea) to her partner's loft.

But now, she really did want some space. She needed a moment to think, to wrap her head around her fate. And as much as she loved Castle, she couldn't do it with him near.

"Castle, please," Kate said quietly, no longer growling, begging him now.

"Alright," Castle sighed. "Just . . . come back, okay?"

Kate smiled softly. She took a step forward and pressed a light kiss to his lip. His fingers relaxed around her wrist and then fell away.

She took a step back, still smiling. But it was one of those sad smiles. She loved this man. She should be able to love him without fear of hurting him.

"I love you," she murmured, the words she'd been holding back spilling past her lips without a second thought.

_I love you and I'm scared and I need a moment to breathe, I will come back, I promise._

"I love you, too," he murmured back.

And then she left.

* * *

Kate went to her dad's.

Why she didn't go to her apartment, she didn't know. As much as she wanted space, she didn't want to be completely alone. Her father would give her that space, but he'd be no more than a few rooms anyway.

That was exactly what she needed. Castle or Lanie would've hovered; she would've gone crazy by herself.

Kate was a grown, independent woman, but she needed her dad.

"Katie," Jim Beckett greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised, after opening his front door. Impromptu visits weren't something Kate did often.

"Hi, Dad," she said.

"Why are you crying?" Jim asked concernedly.

"I'm crying?" Kate lifted a hand and touched her cheek, surprised that it was damp. She hadn't realized she'd been crying.

"What's wrong, Katie?" Jim asked.

She didn't beat around the bush, didn't pause to think she shouldn't be telling him while standing the doorway. "I have cancer, Dad."

"Oh, Katie. I – come in, sweetheart." Jim said.

Kate followed her father into his apartment. It wasn't her childhood home – he'd moved out not too long after her mother's death. His little apartment was one-bedroom and he hadn't decorated that much, but it was nice. Not home, but nice.

They sat on the living room couch and Jim gave his daughter a scared look. 'Cancer' wasn't exactly a fun word to hear, common (common cancer - what a thought) or rare, terminal or curable.

"I . . . went to the doctor today." Her voice was low, almost the voice she adopted when talking to grieving next-of-kin, but a little more rough and emotional. "She had the results of some tests I took a few days ago. I . . . I have a brainstem glioma. It's a cancerous tumor. It's . . . terminal."

"Terminal . . . Katie . . . I . . . you're going to die?" Jim said quietly disbelievingly. She could see the tears gather in his eyes.

"Yeah," Kate confirmed softly, hating that she was hurting him.

"How long do you have?" Jim asked, bracing himself for the answer.

"A few months," Kate said again. A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she wiped them quickly. She had to stop crying. She needed to keep it together.

"I'm so sorry, Katie," Jim said quietly.

"Y-you're sorry?" Kate stammered, confused, more tears sliding down her cheeks. She was falling apart, mentally and physically.

"I'm not the one who's sick." Jim said simply. For a second, Kate caught a glimpse of the father she'd known before her mom's death. The one who always put his family first, who was quick to comfort her after a bad day.

She was going to miss him –

Oh, God.

Kate felt her strength crumble completely. She started to cry, tears pouring down her cheeks as a sob escaped. She was going to die. She was _dying_.

There'd be no honeymoon period with Castle, no first fight, no waiting to reveal their relationship to their friends and family. There'd be no grand marriage proposal, no wedding planning stress, no wedding. She'd never get pregnant with his child – she wouldn't have morning sickness or weird cravings. Castle would never talk to her swollen belly. She'd never threaten to castrate him during labor, never give birth a little boy or girl. She'd never stay up all night with a colicky infant, stumbling into the precinct like a zombie the next day. She'd never sing lullabies to their child; Castle would never read fairytales to them. Their child would never place their tiny hands on Kate's swollen stomach when she got pregnant again. They wouldn't raise their child – children. They wouldn't grow old together, teasing each other about gray hairs and wrinkles and retirement.

She wasn't going to have any of that, because she was going to die.

Jim pulled his daughter into a hug. She cried into his shoulder, holding him tightly. How many more hugs did she have left? How many more times would she see her father? Talk to him? How many more father-daughter moments could she fit into three months? How much of the rest of her life could she fit into three months?

The worst part: she couldn't change anything. She was hanging from the rooftop again – except nobody was coming, not Ryan or Gates or Castle. She was going to die, like it or not.

* * *

_A/N: Again, thank you so much the reviews! I hope you guys liked it. :-)_

_-Ellie_


	3. Chapter Two

_A/N: Not that many reviews last time, which was a bit sad. And if you did review, sorry I never got around to answering, school has made me extremely busy. I hope you like this chapter._

_Oh, and based on 5x01 spoilers, the Dragon isn't caught, but Kate moves passed her mother's murder. For this story, let's just assume that's what happens._

_Disclaimer: You know the drill._

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Chapter Two

June 10, 2012

72 Days Before

Castle was, to put it simply, shocked.

He was sitting on the couch, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. He hadn't moved since he stumbled back to the sofa and sat down; he wasn't sure what time it was.

They were supposed to being living happily ever after – her walls were rubble at their feet, the days of keeping secrets and hiding from their feelings behind them.

She was done battling the Dragon. Moving on. But she was still fighting – fighting her own body. It was like some sort of sick joke.

Castle sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. There was an ache in his chest, growing increasingly painful the more he thought about the cancer. Like the ache was cancerous too.

She couldn't die; he couldn't lose her. He couldn't.

But it wasn't like he had a choice, was it? He'd have to sit there and watch her waste away. He wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.

Tears started streaming down Castle's face. The idea of watching Kate slip away from him, slowly and sickly, was dark and bleak and excruciatingly horrible. He didn't want to. But he had to.

Castle broke down and cried.

His detective, muse, partner. His Beckett. His Kate.

Loving someone was – the geek and romantic in him thought – like using them as a Horcrux, the magical objects from Harry Potter. A part of your soul attached to theirs, a piece of you they keep close and protect. And if that person died, that part of you would die with them.

In losing Kate, Castle would lose a piece of his soul.

And he was so distraught over it that he was making slightly melodramatic Harry Potter references.

It took a while, but the tears eventually stopped. There were none left.

He sat in silence for a moment, wiping away the tears off his face, trying to be calm and collected again.

His stomach growled.

Right, it was dinnertime. Alexis was going to be home soon, expecting dinner to be ready (she'd offered to bring home pizza or take-out, but he'd refused, saying he'd make her a good old-fasioned homecooked meal).

Crap. Alexis.

_Get yourself together, Rick._

* * *

Kate went back to her apartment about half an hour later. She contemplated going back to Castle's, but decided that she really did want that alone time.

It was only six o'clock when she walked into her apartment. She thought she should make herself dinner, but she wasn't hungry.

She curled up on the couch and flipped through the channels until she found a _Law and Order: SVU_ rerun. Mariska Hargitay's hair was short and Richard Belzer's was dark, so it was an older episode. Must've come out in the early 2000s.

Kate forced herself to get lost in the drama. A little boy was victim; the detectives suspected parental neglect and feared for the life of his little sister. And, of course, Detective Benson got emotionally involved in the case.

But her mind wouldn't shut down. A small voice in her head was nagging that she shouldn't be wasting her limited time on watching Olivia Benson cry over some little girl she barely knew. She felt like she should be going on some _Bucket List_ type adventure, but she didn't have any idea what she would do on that adventure.

Kate was still lost in her thoughts when the episode started to come to its usual dramatic conclusion. And then, all of the sudden, Kate's world went black.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself on the floor, head throbbing horribly and her body strangely sore. She lifted a hand to her forehead, near her temple, and touched it gently. She was bleeding. Great. She must've passed out and hit her head on the coffee table.

But did she pass out? She remembered her doctor saying something about seizures – she hadn't been listening. She'd been too busy dwelling on the distracting fact that she had terminal cancer.

Kate sat up, a hand still pressed to her head. She must've - she must've had a seizure. She had a _seizure_. There was a tumor in brain, poisoning her, causing things like seizures. And death.

She sat there for a long time. She was shocked by how real it suddenly seemed. This thing wasn't a prank or a theory. It was undoubtedly true. This thing had caused a seizure and would eventually cause her death.

Dying wasn't fun or exciting or cool. She would know – she was dead, once. She didn't go to Heaven or travel across the universe. She watched the doctors try to revive her – looked at her body – her _corpse_ – in horror, pale and cut up and bloody.

She still had nightmares about that.

So, in short, dying was something she wanted avoid. But here she was, staring Death in its ugly face.

Kate suddenly remembered that her forehead was bleeding and got to her feet. She went to bathroom and cleaned the side of her face with toilet paper, wiping away the trickle of blood. She placed a Band-Aid over the cut. _Nice battle wound, Kate_, she thought sarcastically.

It was only six o'clock and she hadn't eaten dinner, but Kate went to bed anyway.

* * *

After dinner, Castle sat in his study, on his laptop. He started out writing – vague plot ideas, the beginnings of a near-unbeatable super-villain.

But that didn't last very long.

He ended up searching _brainstem glioma_ on Google. Predictably, one of the first results was Wikipedia. It wasn't the most reliable resource in the world, but he clicked on it anyway.

Signs and symptoms.

_Lack of facial control (droopy eyelids), double vision, headache or headache that gets better after vomiting, nausea and vomiting, weakness and fatigue, seizures, balance problems_.

How many symptoms had she had already? Headaches, he guessed. Nausea or vomiting? Weakness and fatigue? She never complained about anything, so even if she was feeling sick, she wouldn't have told him.

So how had the doctor known to look? An offhand comment about headaches? Or had she had a seizure at home, alone, and never told him?

Why the hell wouldn't she have told him?

He scrolled down.

Treatment.

Surgery wouldn't work, the page said. But it could be treated with chemotherapy or radiation.

_More often, it is treated with chemotherapy and/or radiation therapy (though past use of radiation therapy has yielded mixed results.)_

She lied.

Why was he not surprised?

But as unsurprised as he was, he didn't understand. Why had she lied?

He found his answer in the Prognosis section.

_Brainstem glioma is an aggressive and dangerous cancer. Without treatment, the life expectancy is typically a few months from the time of diagnosis. With appropriate treatment, 37% survive more than one year, 20% survive 2 years, and 13% survive 3 years._

Her chances of survival were very slim. And why go through so much pain and suffering for a 37% chance of surviving? What was a headache or some nausea compared to the horrible symptoms of chemotherapy?

And she hadn't told him. Why?

Why, Kate?

Castle sat there for the longest time, staring at the Wikipedia page, reading the same lines over and over. Aggressive and dangerous cancer – life expectancy is typically a few months from the time of diagnosis – 37% - 20% - 13%.

The hopelessness and helplessness of this thing was staggering.

His mind wandered back to the lie.

Why?

He would've understood her reasoning. He did. So why would she lie to him? What was the point? Did she think he wouldn't understand?

He glanced at the time in the lower right corner of his screen. 8:15. It was still early.

He had to talk to her.

If there was one thing Richard Castle had always hated, it was lying. His feelings toward it had only grown stronger in recent months.

Why had she lied?

* * *

_A/N: Thoughts? Like it, hate it, love it?_

_-Ellie_


	4. Chapter Three

_A/N: Update! Yay! Thank you for the awesome reviews! I hope you like this chapter._

_Disclaimer: Because Andrew Marlowe is totally a teenage girl._

* * *

Chapter Three

June 10, 2012

72 Days Before

Weirdly enough, when Castle knocked on the door, Kate was halfway finished with _Heat Wave._ When she climbed into bed, she'd been tired, but her brain just wouldn't shut down. So she'd decided to give it something to think about other than her impending death and took _Heat Wave_ off her bookshelf. The first Nikki Heat novel was special enough to have a place on her bedroom bookshelf.

"Hey, Castle," she greeted, offering her partner a soft smile.

"You lied," he said without greeting, the raw hurt clear in his voice.

Wha – oh.

Crap. Crap, _crap_ –

How had he found out?

"Come in, Castle," she said quietly.

They walked over to the couch and sat like they had earlier, facing each other, knees touching.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she said sincerely. "I should've told you – "

"You're damn right you should've told me." He interrupted angrily.

Damn. Lying was still a very touchy subject for him. Castle rarely lost his cool (sure, he got upset, but never genuinely angry).

"I didn't want you to think I was giving up." She said softly. "I didn't want you to know there was another way and I didn't take the chance."

He stared at her for a moment, thinking of a response. Had he expected her to get defensive and angry? Probably. It wasn't like she hadn't before.

"I would never ever think that." He said, still angry. "Why the hell would you lie to me?"

"I was just trying to protect you," she said quietly, biting her lip instinctively.

And like magic, his rage melted away.

"A little, yeah," he said, his voice lower. The anger completely gone, like it was never there in the first place.

"I know I can't force you to undergo chemotherapy. And I understand why you chose not to. I just wish you would've told me."

"I love you," she murmured again, surprised at how easily the words escaped now. Say it while you can, she supposed. "You are . . . one of the most important people in my life, Castle. I never wanted to hurt you."

He took her hand, curling his fingers around hers. She smiled gently and squeezed his hand lightly.

"I love you too, my dear detective." He murmured.

They both started leaning toward each other. Their lips were _this close_ to meeting and Kate was just about to close her eyes when suddenly –

_Buzz-buzz_.

Castle's phone vibrated, a text message, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

"It's from Alexis," he told her. He admitted sheepishly, "I didn't tell her I left. I was in a rush."

He quickly typed a decent-sized reply and sent it.

"I can stay," he offered, smiling just a little bit.

"That's alright, Castle. Go home. I'll still be here in the morning." She promised.

A peculiar expression appeared on his face. Oh. Too soon, as he would say.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yeah, go spend some time with your daughter." She said.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she stood and cut him off. She grabbed his other hand and pulled him to his feet. She led him to the door, both partners silent.

"Are you absolutely sure?" He asked concernedly.

"Alone time, remember?" She said.

"Right," he sighed.

"I love you," she repeated. "I love you so much, Richard Castle."

"And I love you, Katherine Beckett." He said, smiling a little. "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," she echoed.

* * *

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

She fell asleep at around nine-thirty and woke up at four-thirteen in the morning.

She wasn't that tired, but she didn't want to start her day just yet. She just laid on her side, fingers curled around her sheet, which was pulled tight around her body.

Kate wasn't the type to lay in bed all day – she got restless, needed to be doing something. But today, she laid in bed for forty-five minutes, consumed by her thoughts.

Dispatch called just shy of five o'clock. Kate was never more grateful for an early-morning body drop.

After hanging up with dispatch, she dialed Castle's number – which, yes, she had memorized.

"'ello," Castle greeted blearily.

"Hey, Castle," she said quietly.

"Oh, hi, Kate," he said, sounding significantly more awake.

"A body dropped," she told him shortly.

"Oh," he repeated, sounding disappointed. What, did he seriously think she was done with her 'alone time' and wanted to have a heart-to-heart at five in the morning? Over at the phone? "What's the address?"

* * *

The victim was twenty-four-year-old Tanya Jacobsen, Esposito said. The girl was unhealthily skinny, with thin, pale blonde hair pulled into a messy bun and a bullet hole in her forehead. Tanya was in bed, on top of the sheets, wearing an oversized T-shirt and blue short-shorts. Her blood was all over the pillow, like somebody had thrown red paint on it.

"Hey, Lanie," Kate greeted her friend, who was sitting next to the body on the bed.

"Hey," Lanie echoed, not looking up from Tanya. Tanya's icy blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling, wide and shocked.

"Do I really need to ask cause of death?" Kate quipped, walking closer to the body with Castle trailing behind her.

"Ha, ha," Lanie said dryly. "I'd say it was a .22, by the way."

"TOD?" Kate inquired.

"Between four to six hours ago," Lanie answered.

A pretty young girl, shot dead in her apartment. She was married – Kate noticed a ring on her finger. She probably had loving parents, a protective older brother, a sweet little sister. A family that some monster had ruined, torn apart. A family that would never be the same after losing one of its members.

* * *

Tanya's husband David had found the body. David was tall and gangly, with dark, greasy hair that sliced his thin face in half diagonally. Every inch of exposed skin, with the exception of his face, was covered in tattoos. His visible eye was huge and piercingly blue, staring sadly at the hallway that led to the crime scene.

He looked like a cartoon character, Kate thought.

"David Jacobsen?" Kate asked. The kid – he looked so young, she couldn't help but think of him as a kid – jumped to his feet, off the couch in a second.

"That's me," David said quickly.

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett," Kate said. "And this Richard Castle."

She shook David's hand, which was surprisingly small and cold.

"Do you know what happened to Tanya?" David asked, eyes flickering rapidly from the detective to the writer, then back to Kate.

"Not yet," Kate said instead. "David, do you have any idea who could've done this? Was there anyone who wanted to hurt Tanya?"

"N-no," David answered. Of course not. "She was the sweetest girl I've ever met. She didn't have a mean bone in her body."

"Are you sure?"

"Well . . . her and her older sister Julianne got in a fight recently. But Julianne would never hurt Tanya!" David added quickly.

David gave them a frightened look, like a little kid who told his parents a secret he shouldn't have. The poor guy looked like he was about to cry. Intuition told Kate that the guy probably got upset over squishing bugs, wouldn't have been able to kill Tanya and not be sobbing over it.

Kate decided to give him some space.

"Thank you, David," Kate said gently. "You've been very helpful."

* * *

Back at the precinct, Kate and the boys quickly set up the murder board. This past week, Gates had been exceptionally irritable. Her daughter and newborn, colicky grandson were visiting. Kate also suspected Gates was angry with her about the Quitting Incident, as Castle called it.

"No signs of a break-in," Esposito commented as he wrote it. "She must've let the perp inside."

"Without David seeing?" Ryan asked dubiously.

"David was talking to his online friends and painting," Esposito reminded him. "iPod turned up all the way the whole time."

"That never ends well," Castle remarked quietly, thinking of the Candela kidnapping. A father had sat his daughter in living room and went off to paint, blasting music in his ears. The kidnapper had snuck in through the window, taken little Angela Candela, and left without Angela's father Alfred noticing. They didn't usually remember cases from so long ago, but it was hard to forget a kidnapping.

That hadn't been a fun case.

"So she . . .," Kate started to say something, but, like last night, the world suddenly went completely back.

* * *

_A/N: Cliffhanger! Dun, dun, dun._

_Hope you liked it. Please review – I'd love to hear what you thought of it. I know there are a lot of you who follow the story . . ._

_Yeah, yeah, I know I sound like I'm begging. I kind of am. A little._

_-Ellie_


	5. Chapter Four

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the awesome reviews! I'm glad you guys enjoy the story so much._

_**Important announcement**: Apparently, there is another fanfiction about cancer with the same title. I HAD NO IDEA, I swear. I looked it up, and apparently it doesn't exist (not just on this website, but on any other fanfiction site) anymore, which is probably why I never heard of it. I chose this title because I really like this song and because I thought it was fitting. I promise you all: I WAS NOT TRYING TO COPY ANYONE._

_Capeesh?_

_Okay. Announcement over._

_Disclaimer: Yeah. Not mine._

_P.S.: Buckle your seat belts, folks, this chapter's the longest so far (over 2,000 words)._

* * *

Chapter Four

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

"_So she . . .," Kate started to say something, but, like last night, the world suddenly went completely back._

Castle glanced over at Kate when her sentence trailed off. He watched, completely frozen, as her body started to convulse and she collapsed. His body wouldn't move as hers shook violently, gathering the attention of the whole bullpen.

It didn't happen in slow motion, like it did in the movies. It happened in a blur; she was on the floor and convulsing in a split second, it seemed.

A seizure. Oh, God. She was having a seizure.

Ryan and Esposito jumped into action, falling to their knees beside her. But they didn't seem to know what to do either.

"Someone call an ambulance!" Ryan shouted to the homicide division, then looked back at her, his voice quieter, laced with confusion and terror. "What the hell is wrong with her?"

"I - it - she – she has cancer. It's one of the symptoms." Castle said quietly, reluctant to reveal the information. She probably wanted to tell them herself.

Too late.

"She has _what_?" Esposito asked harshly, tearing his eyes away from her to look up at Castle.

"Brain cancer," Castle said.

Both Ryan and Esposito stared at Castle for a moment, completely stunned. And scared. Scared for her, their coworker and friend.

"Brain cancer," Esposito breathed disbelievingly. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"No," Castle said softly. "It's . . . it's terminal."

Esposito and Ryan's eyes moved back to Kate. Their dying friend. Their dying friend who was having a seizure on the precinct floor.

Nobody spoke after that. The whole precinct was in a state of frozen, silent shock, watching their best detective with confused, fearful eyes.

After a moment that lasted an eternity, the seizure ended and Kate went still. On slightly shaky legs, Castle finally moved closer to her and sat next her head.

The atmosphere remained tense and still. Castle fought the urge to touch her – tuck those strands of her hair off her pale face, hold her hand.

She had a seizure. His girlfriend, his muse, his partner had a seizure.

She was dying and she had a seizure.

It was difficult, but he held back his tears.

* * *

Kate opened her eyes slowly, eyelids fluttering for a moment; a familiar face swam into view.

Castle.

She vaguely aware that she was lying on the floor, and that there were other people kneeling beside her, but all she could focus on was her partner's face.

Fear. Concern. A little bit of shock.

"You're okay, K – Beckett," he promised gently.

Good save, Castle.

"What happened?" She asked roughly, propping herself up on her elbows and fighting a wince. Her entire body was sore.

"You had a seizure," he answered.

Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that the whole bullpen was staring at her.

"Castle said something about cancer?" Esposito said, his voice low and full of half-masked emotion.

"Brain cancer," she confirmed quietly. "Terminal."

"Terminal?" Esposito echoed, almost blankly, even though he'd just been told a few minutes before. It felt different, hearing it from Kate herself.

She nodded gravely.

The looks the boys gave were deeply sad and confused, like a kicked puppy's. But more intense. Not just sad, but . . . mourning, almost. Like she was already gone.

"The EMTs should be here soon," Esposito said gruffly.

* * *

One of the paramedics was a pretty woman, tall with long red curls pulled into a loose ponytail. The other was an overweight man, older, his dark hair thinning and graying. Not too far away from retirement, but not quite there yet.

They asked their questions very quietly; the woman had a soft and melodic kind of voice, while the man's was deep and gravelly. They were deaf to Kate protesting continually, "I'm fine, really."

Castle went in the ambulance with Kate. Ryan and Esposito followed in their car, after a ruffled-looking Gates told the Hispanic detective to keep her updated.

* * *

He couldn't get the images to go away.

She was there, convulsing on the precinct floor, every time he closed his eyes. Over and over again, he watched her go so completely still, as if she had – as if she had died.

The fear was still there, too. It filled up his chest and clogged his throat. She's fine, she's fine, she's fine for now, he told himself, but it didn't help.

He blinked; there she was, collapsing all of the sudden. Falling to the floor as if a puppeteer had suddenly released her strings.

Kate was one of the strongest people he knew, and to see her just . . . collapse like that –

He'd never forget it.

* * *

They didn't even change her into a hospital gown.

She was still wearing her white blouse and slacks, a little pale and sweaty but okay.

He immediately wrapped her in a crushing bear hug. She was right there, right there against his chest, dying but alive.

"I'm okay, Castle," she whispered reassuringly. His arms were locked around her – he couldn't have moved them if he wanted to.

So he held her as tight as he could.

"Castle, I'm fine," she said, a little less soft and a little more forceful.

He didn't let go.

"You're suffocating me," she said, in that what-you're-doing-is-sweet-but-it-irritates-me-at-the-same-time tone.

He finally pulled away.

Simultaneously, they both realized that Ryan and Esposito were watching them curiously, serious circumstances apparently forgotten.

"Just tell us you're sleeping together and get it over with." Ryan blurted out in an unexpectedly exasperated tone.

Oh. They knew. Judging by Ryan's tone, they must've known for a while now.

Of course.

"How long have you guys known?" Castle asked, not even bothering to try denying it.

"I was just walking by the neighbor . . . hood," Ryan said, imitating Castle's slightly deeper voice. Kate grinned.

"Ah," Castle said. Of course. That wasn't one of his better excuses.

There was a short, slightly awkward silence.

"So . . . cancer," Esposito said eventually, his voice softer than Castle thought it could be. An awkward way to bring up the topic, but, in all honesty, was there a good way to bring up something like that?

"Yeah. But I'm fine," Kate said. She jumped off the bed, but stumbled. Castle caught her by the elbows, steadied her. "We have to a murder to solve. The sister's at the precinct, right?"

"Yeah, but about that, Gates wants to –" Ryan started.

"I'll talk to Gates after I talk to Tanya's sister." Kate said firmly. But then her voice softened, as did her eyes. "I really am fine, guys."

* * *

Ryan and Esposito brought in the victim's twenty-eight-year-old sister, Julianne Puleo. Julianne had the same delicate features, icy blue eyes, and pale skin as her sister. Her hair was the same pale blonde as Tanya's, though she wore hers in a pixie cut. Unlike Tanya, Julianne was short and curvy, and had a horrible fashion sense.

Kate and Castle walked into the interrogation room and immediately noticed the confused look on Julianne's face. Innocent or good actor? A little bit of both?

"I'm Detective Beckett," Kate introduced, voice neutral. She wasn't sure whether to be good cop or bad cop yet. "This is Richard Castle."

The dynamic duo sat across from the woman, who watched them with maybe-fake bewilderment in her eyes.

"You mean, like, the novelist, Richard Castle?" Julianne asked, staring at Castle.

Recognition flashed across the woman's face as Castle said, "The one and only."

"You're following a homicide detective around, right?" Julianne asked nervously. "Who was murdered?"

Julianne's eyes flickered between Castle and Kate.

"Your sister," Kate said. "Tanya."

"_What_?" Julianne cried. "Tanya was murdered?! What happened? Who did it?"

"You," Castle answered calmly.

"_Me_?" The woman shrieked, sounding insulted. "You think I k-killed my sister? I _love_ Tanya!"

"Then why were you fighting with her?" Kate asked.

Julianne went silent for a moment, giving Kate and Castle the infamous _You know about that?_ look.

Julianne took a deep breath. She said quietly, "We were fighting about Marcus."

"Marcus?" Castle asked.

"My husband," Julianne said hesitantly. Castle's face lit up with the simple pleasure of an intriguing story.

"Your sister was sleeping with your husband?" He asked, almost excitedly.

"Castle," she said warningly, giving him a cautioning look.

"Yes. Well, no," Julianne said. Kate's eye snapped back to the suspect, confused. _Yes – well, no_ wasn't an acceptable answer to that question. "I went over to her place two days ago, to have to talk to her about Marcus. She – she told me that he was hitting on her. A lot. He even – he even – _assaulted _her one night."

Julianne's tone was disgusted, tears streaming down her face.

"Mrs. Puleo – Julianne," Kate said, voice a little softer. "Do you have an alibi for Tanya's murder?"

"When was it?" Julianne asked roughly.

"Between eleven and one this morning," Kate told her.

"My, uh – my daughter had a nightmare around midnight." Julianne said. "Ask my sister-in-law Angela or her husband Jamie. They've been staying with us this past week."

Kate was certainly going to, but she had the feeling Julianne hadn't killed Tanya. Cop's intuition, again.

"Thank you, Mrs. Puleo," Kate said. "You've been very helpful."

* * *

"You got the file on Tanya?" Kate asked Esposito and Ryan as she walked up to their desks.

"Yeah," Ryan answered. "She's clean as can be."

Esposito shook his head, looking a bit embarrassed at his partner's word choice. Kate suppressed a smile.

"Alright," Kate said. "I need you guys to run Julianne's husband, Marcus Puleo, while I talk to Gates."

Esposito raised an eyebrow. Kate added, "He sexually assaulted our vic."

"There was nothing in her file about sexual assault." Ryan said. "She never reported it to the police."

"She was probably embarrassed." Castle speculated. "Or she didn't want to ruin her beloved sister's marriage."

"Maybe both," Kate said. "But why would she randomly decide to tell Julianne two days ago?"

Esposito and Ryan grinned as Mom and Dad were starting to theorize – it was always fun to watch.

"Maybe she couldn't take it anymore. She felt like she was betraying Julianne by not telling her that her husband is a rapist. She wanted Julianne to know and she wanted to see her attacker brought to justice."

"Marcus overhears the conversation and gets angry. He goes over to Tanya's place, saying he wants to apologize so she'll let him in, and kills her to shut her up."

"And he doesn't hide the body because he's afraid David will notice." Castle added.

Kate and Castle are staring at each, the adoring eyes and excited expressions of theory building together.

Kate turned to the boys, who were both giving Castle and Kate wide smiles.

"So, run the husband," Esposito concluded.

"Unless you want him to get away with murder," Kate confirmed.

Esposito's expression softened. "You sure you're okay, Beckett?"

"I'm fine, Espo," she said reassuringly, the unspoken _for now_ hanging in the air.

* * *

_A/N: Ooh, I wonder what will happen with Gates (you didn't think I forgot about Beckett's talk with Gates, did you?)._

_Well, I don't have to wonder. I already know._

_Sorry this chapter took so long, it ended up going through some major revisions. Next chapter won't take so long, I promise._

_I hope you liked it!_

_*I will not beg for reviews I will not beg for reviews*_

_-Ellie_


	6. Chapter Five

_A/N: New update, yay! Thank you all for reviewing. It means the world to me._

_P.S. I COMPLETELY forgot about Beckett and Espo's suspension when I wrote this. Sorry about that. It's not really all that important, so just . . . ignore it, all right? Or pretend it's already over. It doesn't effect the storyline, I swear._

_Disclaimer: Still not mine._

* * *

Chapter Five

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Captain Gates looked up from the file she was reading, over her glasses. She saw Kate standing in the doorway, one foot in the office.

Her eyes softened noticeably.

"Come in, detective."

Kate stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She walked over to the captain and stood in front of the older woman's desk.

"Esposito called me earlier." Gates started softly. Apparently, thankfully, not angry about Kate talking to Julianne before talking to her. "He said you have cancer."

"Brain cancer," Kate confirmed, as if any bit of information from Esposito could be untrue. Especially something that serious.

"I'm very sorry," Gates said sincerely.

Kate was touched (extremely touched – she'd never imagined Gates could sound that sympathetic), but there was a small part of her that wondered what Montgomery's reaction would've been. She could picture the sadness in his dark eyes, the expression on his face.

She mentally shook herself.

Focus on Gates.

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

"I assume you'll be resigning soon?" Gates asked.

"I was hoping for another week or so, to . . . figure everything out." She said honestly.

Panic crept into her chest and settled there, again. She was dying, she had a few precious weeks left, and she didn't know what she was going to do with them.

What the hell was she going to do with them?

_Get a hold of yourself, Beckett._

Gates was considering Kate, scrutinizing the detective. Kate couldn't read Gates's expression.

"Alright," Gates finally said. "But you're on desk duty. And if anything like this happens again . . ."

"I understand, sir," Kate said.

"Good," Gates said, with a small, sharp nod. She added, not unkindly, "Now go solve Tanya Jacobsen's murder, detective."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Marcus Puleo was a tall and muscled Italian man in his early thirties. His eyes were dark, his hair and beard black and bushy. There was something extremely intimidating about the man, but Kate couldn't say what it was exactly.

"What do you want?" Puleo asked hostilely as Castle and Kate sat across from him in the interrogation room. His accent was thick.

"Do you know a woman named Tanya Jacobsen?" Kate asked.

"Yeah," Puleo grunted. "My wife's sister. Met her a few times, didn't like her much."

"Are you sure?" Kate asked. "Because I heard Tanya was the one that didn't like you."

"Mutual dislike, then," Puleo said easily. "Did that bitch tell you her lie?"

"She didn't tell us anything. She's dead." Kate told him shortly.

"Can't say I'm sorry," Puleo grunted honestly. Kate didn't like this man one bit – he wasn't out right rude and obnoxious like some guys, but very surly and unlikable.

Castle backpedaled. "What lie did Tanya tell?"

"She told my Julie that I raped her. I would _never_ do such a thing. She tried to sleep with me, I rejected her, she got angry and lied to Julie." Puleo explained heatedly.

An idea popped into Kate's head, completely different from her and Castle's theory. "I bet that made you furious. Tanya was going to lie to the police and ruin your life. You killed her to keep her quiet."

"No!" Puleo said, offended and angry. "I would never do such a thing! Yes, I don't like Tanya, but I would never hurt her in any way!"

"If you're so innocent, tell us where you were between eleven and one last night." Kate said.

"At my friend Bruce's house," Puleo said. "Ever since Tanya lied, Julie and I have been fighting. She kicked me out yesterday."

"And your sister and brother-in-law just stayed with her?" Castle asked doubtfully.

"Yes," Puleo said bitterly. "Angela and Julie have been friends since high school. My sister loves Julie much more than she loves me."

* * *

Puleo's alibi checked out. They were back to square one.

Tanya Jacobsen was the model citizen. She was, in the eyes of the law, perfect – but now she was dead.

It was so infuriating.

When Lanie called, Kate was relieved. She drove to the morgue hoping for a huge break in the case. Was it horrible for Kate to hope Tanya had been on drugs and her dealer had killed her?

Probably.

But it wasn't drugs.

"Your vic was pregnant. About fourteen weeks," Lanie told them. "But that's not why I called you down here."

Kate raised an eyebrow, urging Lanie to go on.

The medical examiner lifted a small evidence bag containing a bright blue sticky note. "I found this tucked into the victim's underwear."

"Her underwear?" Castle asked, confused.

"Near the waistline," Lanie said, handing the evidence bag to Kate. "She was probably trying to hide it from her husband."

The sticky note read: _The baby isn't David's._ The large and untidy scrawl didn't look like a woman's handwriting, but who knew? It could be a man's.

"I took a DNA sample from the fetus." Lanie said. "Results should be back soon."

"Okay. Meanwhile, Castle and I will talk to David." Kate said. She hesitated, then said, "I have to talk you later, Lanie."

The seriousness in Kate's tone caught Lanie off guard. "You okay?"

Pretending everything was normal didn't mean it was.

Kate smiled, a small and unconvincing upward quirk of her lips. "Later, Lanie."

* * *

David was twitchy, nervous, picking at his fingers and wringing his hands.

"Why am I here?" David asked as Kate and Castle walked into the interrogation room. "I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt Tanya."

Kate and Castle sat down across from David, ignoring his question.

"Did you know about this?" Kate asked, placing the evidence bag in front of David.

As he read it, his eyes grew wide with shock.

"What? I – what is this?" David spluttered. "Of course the baby is mine!"

"Do you recognize this handwriting?" Kate asked.

"Y-yeah, it's Tanya," David said quietly. "I don't understand. The baby is – was mine."

David, overcome with emotion, started crying. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

"I knew," David cried. "I _knew_ Tanya was cheating. B-but she said it was a one-time thing, that she broke it off, that the baby _was_ mine. And I believed her. I'm such an idiot."

Why did every possible suspect turn out to be so soft-hearted?

Julie, Marcus Puleo, David – they were all great suspects in theory, but in reality were clearly innocent.

"Do you know the other guy's name?" Kate asked, kindness in her voice. David Jacobsen was no killer, just like she'd suspected before.

"Harley. Harley Cole," David cried.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Kate asked.

David sucked in a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He wiped away his tears. When he spoke again, his voice was a little stronger.

"I was embarrassed. And I didn't think it was relevant."

That was what they all said.

* * *

While the boys tracked down Harley Cole, Castle and Kate went to get coffee in the break room.

"So Tanya told Julianne that Marcus raped her so nobody would know she was cheating." Castle speculated.

"Why Marcus?" Kate asked.

"Because she did try sleep with him. When he rejected her, she was furious. Furious enough to want to ruin his life," Castle said.

Castle passed a cup of coffee to Kate and gave him a grateful "Thank you."

There was a short silence in which Castle and Kate both sipped their coffee in an identical movement, like it had been practiced.

"When are you going to talk to Lanie?" Castle asked.

"After we talk to Harley Cole," Kate answered.

"Is it about . . . ?" Castle inquired.

She nodded.

"Did you tell your dad?" He asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I went to see him last night."

"How'd he take it?" He sounded genuinely concerned and interested.

"Fine. He's still in shock, I think," she admitted. "What's with all the questions, Castle?"

The writer shrugged. "Just making conversation, Beckett."

Kate took another sip of coffee.

_Making conversation_. Talking about revealing her illness to her friends and family was _making conversation_ now.

That was how it worked, though, wasn't it? The tumor took over her life before it took her life.

And it was starting already.

Ryan appeared in the doorway, effectively interrupting her thoughts by telling them, "Harley Cole's here."

* * *

_A/N: What did you think? Leave me a review. _

_-Ellie_


	7. Chapter Six

_A/N: New chapter! Sorry it took so long to update - my muse for this story went away from a little bit, but now it's back and I'm gonna bug Abby to critique more often. Also, I don't wanna beg for reviews, but come on, guys. There are 100 (! - wow thank you I'm glad you love the story) of you following this story. Where are you? Sorry I don't reply all that often, I keep meaning to, I swear. Reviews mean a lot._

_Disclaimer: See previous chapters and basically every fanfic ever written._

* * *

Chapter Five

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

Harley Cole confessed.

The man was tall and gangly like David, the only difference being that his head was shaved. The haircut made his blue eyes seem huge.

At first, he tried to act tough and intimidating. He was both evasive and defensive, thinking he was being "scary."

But Kate could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be, brain tumor or no. Harley cracked after a few minutes with the great Detective Beckett.

He had killed Tanya because he was possessive and jealous. And because she was, in his words, _a crazy bitch._ Kate secretly agreed. But Tanya was dead now and Kate had to be respectful.

Even if Tanya had been a crazy bitch.

After Cole's confession, Kate hesitantly drove down to the morgue. She didn't want to explain everything _again_, but Lanie – her best friend since the dark days of the early 2000s – deserved to know.

She entered Lanie's office and her friend greeted her cheerfully.

"Hey, girl. I have the results of the DNA test for you."

"What's the verdict?" Kate asked, taking the chance to stall for another minute.

"Husband's the father," Lanie said.

"So the baby was David's after all." Kate said. Huh. All that and the baby ended up being David's.

Poor guy.

"So," Lanie started, quite serious and worried all of the sudden. "I know you didn't come down here to talk about work. What's up, Kate?"

The moment of truth. A linchpin; the moment everything changed. The moment a girl was told her best friend was dying.

"Lanie, I – I have cancer."

At Lanie's shocked and horrified expression, Kate launched into the explanation of her sickness. Her sickness. Like it belonged to her, like she owned it.

By the time Kate finished, Lanie was standing feet from the detective, holding the sick woman's hands. A single tear was rolling down the M.E.'s face.

"Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry," Lanie said softly.

Last night, she was confused when her dad apologized. But she'd been a complete wreck last night, a huge mess of emotion made more intense by the shock of the news.

"I . . .," Kate started, then paused. She confessed, voice low and rough with emotion, "I'm scared, Lanie."

There. She said it. Sure, she'd cried in the front of her dad, but she'd never said it out loud. She was _scared_ – scared so much that it was hard to breathe when she thought about it.

"Oh, sweetie," Lanie murmured. She pulled Kate into a hug, even though the height difference made it a bit difficult.

"I'm so scared," she whispered, feeling weak and vulnerable for the millionth time in the less than twenty-four hours.

She had no image to protect, no reputation to uphold, in front of Lanie. She didn't have to pretend to be strong. Lanie had seen Kate at her very lowest – she couldn't hide a single thing from the medical examiner.

Lanie held Kate tight, rubbing her back as both of them cried.

* * *

After she washed her face in the morgue bathroom, her face was make-up-less and still a little blotchy from crying. But she looked fine and decided to go to Castle's.

Better tell Alexis and Martha now, after she was all cried-out, when there was no danger of tearing up in front of his family.

After saying goodbye to a still teary Lanie, she drove to Castle's place. Two days ago, she probably would've scolded herself for going over there two nights in a row. But her days were numbered; why spend her limited time alone when she could spend it with Castle?

When he opened his front door and saw her standing there, a huge smile bloomed on his face.

"Hey, Beckett."

"Hey, Castle," she replied, matching his smile. "Are Alexis and Martha home?"

"Alexis is, but my mother is at her studio. She should be home soon, though." He told her.

"I think we should tell them about the tumor." She said it so nonchalantly; his eyes darkened slightly. "My dad, the captain, the boys, Lanie, and you already know. Might as well get it over with completely."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea," he said, but there was something off in his tone.

"You sure?" She asked.

"Isn't that my line?" He said. She knew the technique; distract, steer the conversation away from the question, leave it unanswered and forgotten.

"What's up, Castle?" She asked seriously, eyebrows raised.

"Just . . . I haven't fully wrapped my head around it. But if you want to tell Alexis and my mother, that's your choice." He said.

"I would say it's going to be okay, but . . ."

"It's not." The indifference in his tone caught her off guard. It was true – she was dying, things were as un-okay as they could possibly be – but she hadn't expected the detachment in his tone. Like he'd accepted the harsh reality, which he'd just told her he hadn't.

"I –" She started.

"Dad, who's at the door?" Alexis called, cutting Kate off.

"It's Beckett," he called back.

"Is she staying for dinner? It's ready." Alexis said.

"We're coming," Castle said. He turned to Kate and said, quieter, "C'mon in."

Castle returned to the kitchen, Kate next to him. Alexis was standing at the island, cutting up a pizza.

"Hi, Detective Beckett," Alexis greeted, smiling at the older woman.

"Hi, Alexis," Kate said. "The pizza smells delicious."

"Dad and I make the best homemade pizza." Alexis told her. "We don't make it a lot, though, because it takes so long to make."

Kate was about to answer when Martha appeared, catching everyone's attention instantly.

* * *

Dinner was a fun, lively affair. Martha had the ability to talk endlessly, each story told making her family and Kate laugh.

The detective couldn't bring herself to ruin the joyful atmosphere. _After dinner_, she told herself. _I'll tell them after dinner._

After helping the Castles clean up, Kate took a deep breath and said, "Alexis, Martha, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What's the matter, dear?" Martha asked, concerned by the deadly serious look on Kate's face. Alexis, too, looked worried.

Castle just looked sad, like the boys had earlier today. A kicked puppy, she remembered thinking.

As she explained, Martha and Alexis's crumbled and matched Castle's. The writer looked like he wanted to cover his ears and hum loudly like a little kid.

"I'm so sorry, darling," Martha said wretchedly, placing her hand over Kate's.

"Thank you, Martha," Kate said, her voice a rough with emotion once again.

The four of them were silent for a while. Kate stared at the ground, fighting tears. This tumor wasn't just taking over her – it was taking over her partner, his family, her dad, her precinct family.

Suddenly, the ring of Kate's cell phone interrupted the silence.

"Sorry," she said, pulling the device out of her pocket.

"Beckett," she answered.

"Hey, Katie," her dad said. There was something off in his voice, something she immediately recognized.

He was drunk.

* * *

_A/N: Dun dun dunnnnnn._

_I hope you liked this chapter. And I promise I will start updating more often._

_Thoughts on this chapter?_

_-Ellie_


	8. Chapter Seven

_A/N: I'll try to update more often, I promise. You guys are fantastic. Thank you for all the awesome reviews._

_Disclaimer: Does this even need to be said anymore?_

* * *

Chapter Seven

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

"Where are you, Dad?" She asked, well aware of three pairs of blue eyes staring at her.

"Chuck's place," he slurred.

Chuck's place. Her uncle Chuck – her dad's brother Charles Beckett – owned a bar near the apartment where he, Jim, and their baby sister Liz grew up.

Her uncle owned a bar. The universe was a cruel, sardonic place, and never failed to prove it.

"Uncle Chuck hasn't taken you home yet?" She asked. Uncle Chuck, as the older brother, usually pulled Jim out the bar when he got drunk and made sure Jim got back to his apartment alright.

"Nah, Chuck's not working," Jim said. "Rosie's sick, I think."

Rosie was Chuck's girlfriend – at sixty-five, Chuck had been married and divorced twice (not unlike Castle). He was kind of an ass when it came to relationships; he didn't abuse them or anything, he was just a real self-centered jerk of a boyfriend/husband.

"Okay, I'm coming, then. Stay put for a few minutes, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Katie," he said, then just hung up.

Kate bit her lip, suppressing a sigh.

This couldn't be happening. Her dad had been sober for eight years; he'd been doing more than great.

But now she was dying.

Oh.

"Is your dad – " Castle started.

"Yeah," she said shortly, guessing the rest of his question. "I gotta go."

* * *

Jim was sitting next someone vaguely familiar, a burly, bearded guy at Uncle Chuck's bar. He was laughing, too loud, at something the bearded guy had said.

Kate placed a hand on her dad's shoulder. "Dad."

He turned and gave her a huge smile when he saw her. "Hi, Katie."

"It's time to go, Dad," she said quietly.

Through his drunken haze, he must've noticed the hurt look on her face. His smile disappeared.

"Go ahead, I'll pay," the bearded man offered in a deep, Brooklyn-accented voice.

"Thanks, Bill," Jim said to the man, then turned back to his daughter. "Let's go."

As Kate led her father out of the bar and drove him home, she didn't speak. She was afraid she'd start yelling. Or crying. Maybe a little bit of both.

She couldn't deal with this. Not again. Not now.

She didn't talk until she and her father were at his apartment, sitting on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Katie," he said. Not quite sober, but clear-minded enough to look apologetic.

"Dad, I . . .," she started, but she had no idea what to say.

_I can't do this again. I can't handle it. Please stop._

As true as that was, she wasn't about to say it.

Jim spoke instead, voice drunkenly dejected. "I . . . I still miss your mom. Sometimes I miss her so much I can't breathe, even thirteen years later. And now you're . . . leaving, too. My girls are gonna be together, and I'll be alone."

_Oh, God, Dad._

That thought hadn't occurred her.

She didn't believe in Heaven or anything – but what if? What if there was such a thing as the Light, like on that ridiculous show with Jennifer Love Hewitt?

What if she could see her mom again?

A familiar pain flared in her chest, tears flooding her eyes. _What if she could see her mom again?_

No. No no no. She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't want to die. She should want to stay, take care of her dad, build a life with Castle.

But there was a small part of her –

No. _No_.

And then she noticed that her dad was crying.

She pulled him into a hug, like he had hugged her the night before. It was his turn to break.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I love you, Katie. And I still love your mother. So much. I love both of you so much." Jim whispered.

Kate held her dad tighter. "I love you too, Dad."

* * *

After her dad calmed down and insisted she leave to get some rest, she went back to Castle's.

"Hey, Beckett," he greeted, uncharacteristically serious.

"Hey, Castle," she said.

"C'mon in," he said.

She crossed the threshold and the two of them walked over to his couch. They sat down and he took her hand. She threaded their fingers together, smiling just a little. She wasn't one for hand holding, but he seemed to be. It was actually kind of nice, so she wasn't going to pull away. Hadn't in the past.

"How's your dad?" Castle asked.

"He doesn't know how to handle pain. He thinks the only way to deal with it is to bury it in alcohol." She explained.

He squeezed her hand gently. "I can't even imagine what he's going through."

Kate paused before speaking. And when she did, her voice came out soft and timid, very un-Beckett-like. "Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you take of my dad? After . . . after I'm gone?"

"Yes, of course," he answered.

"Take care of yourself, too. Don't do what my dad did. Be there for Alexis."

"Kate," he breathed her name brokenly. "We're not having this conversation. Not now. Let's just watch a movie, take our mind off of it, okay? We'll talk later."

_We'll talk later._ Wasn't that usually her line?

She did want this conversation, a little. But the look in his eyes – she couldn't push it.

Castle turned to the TV on and flipped through a few channels before settling on some mindless TV comedy. Kate, in another very un-Beckett action, ended up curling up at Castle's side. He put his arm around her, holding her close.

That was enough. Sitting there, cuddled up against her partner, was enough.

* * *

Lanie was alone in the morgue.

She was staring at the body of a young woman who'd been poisoned. She was tall, skinny, and dark-haired – beautiful.

She looked like Kate.

Kate would be like this soon. Lying in a hospital morgue, pale and still. Dead, gone, being cut up by some uncaring, antisocial guy like Perlmutter.

Lanie pulled off her gloves and buried her face in her hands. Tears streamed her face, her shoulders shaking with small sobs.

Her best friend was going to die.

Kate didn't deserve this. After everything she'd been through, she didn't deserve this. She deserved to be happy.

It wasn't fair. That thought was stupid and childish, but it really wasn't fair. It was so unfair.

Her best friend didn't deserve this.

Lanie was suddenly glad she was alone.

* * *

"You okay, Kevin? You've been really quiet all night." Jenny said, worry in her voice. She turned to face him; the married couple was sitting on the couch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ryan said absentmindedly.

"What's wrong, Kevin?" Jenny insisted.

"Beckett . . . Beckett's dying." Ryan said quietly.

His coworker. His friend. Dying.

"What? Did she get shot?" Jenny asked, voice a little higher, eyes wide, scared.

"No, she . . .," his voice trailed off. He sighed. The thought of it, a tumor in her brain, made him feel sick. "She has brain cancer. Terminal. She – she only has a few months." His voice cracked in a very unmanly fashion.

"Oh, Kevin, I'm so sorry," Jenny said softly. "I know you two are close."

"Yeah," he agreed.

They were. They'd been through a lot these past few years, him and Esposito and Castle and Beckett. And every time, he had her back, and she had his. They teased each other and protected each like siblings (though maybe a little more than that, when it came to Castle and Beckett). The four of them, they were a tight unit.

But their precinct family was falling apart. Montgomery had died only a year before. And now Beckett. And Castle – he probably wouldn't come back after she . . . after she was gone.

And then it would be just him and Esposito against Gates and whoever would replace Beckett. Hastings, maybe? Thompson? McNally? They were all perfectly good cops.

But they weren't Beckett. In the years he'd spend on the force (hoped to spend, assuming the dangerous job didn't take his life), nobody could possibly be Beckett.

They made a good team – Ryan, Esposito, Beckett, Castle, and Montgomery. Not a perfect team. Certainly not in the beginning – two exceptionally tough cops, a soft-hearted and still slightly green-when-it-came-to-Homicide cop, a pain in the ass, tagalong writer. And an experienced captain, who basically brought them all together.

But now they were falling apart. Soon, it would be him and Esposito, orphaned. Mom dead, Dad abandoned them. Left alone with the Evil Foster Mother Gates and their unknown foster brother or sister.

What a sad story.

"Oh, Kevin, don't cry," Jenny said soothingly. She wrapped her arms around him, held him close while he cried.

His coworker. His friend. His pseudo-sister.

_Dying_.

What a sad, sad story.

* * *

Esposito laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He met Kate Beckett back in fall 2006, when she made detective. He'd had a little bit of a crush on her back then. She was mysterious, unapproachable, gorgeous – how he could not have a crush on her?

But that crush, after a little less than a year, eventually turned into brotherly affection and unshakable loyalty. He didn't bulldoze his way into his heart like Writer Boy had, but he liked to think he knew her better than most.

Since his dad died when he was young, he'd grown up very protective of his mother and little sister. The protectiveness carried into his adult life, his time in Special Forces and now with his partners on the force. With Beckett and Ryan and Castle.

The fact that he couldn't protect Beckett from this was a heavy, uncomfortable weight on top of him. It weighed down his lungs, made his chest hurt.

He didn't like it.

They were supposed to be a team. But that team was crumbling, falling apart. Soon enough, it would be just him and Ryan.

A tear slipped down his cheek and he wiped it away hastily.

He'd lost a few brothers in arms and brothers from the force, but this was . . . different. Having to watch her waste away. Knowing her death was completely pointless, she'd just been dealt a bad hand.

Never knowing why.

It was stupid, and pointless, and he wished with every fiber of being that there was something he could do to change it.

* * *

_A/N: Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


	9. Chapter Eight

_A/N: I'm such a bad person. You guys are _so_ overdue for an update. I don't know why you put up with me. I love you all._

_Disclaimer: See previous chapters._

* * *

Chapter Eight

June 11, 2012

71 Days Before

_It was the first anniversary of her mother's death. The sky was a dull gray, the air bitingly cold. It had snowed earlier in the week; the ground was white beneath Kate and her father's feet, as was the top of Johanna Beckett's grave._

_ Her dad sank to his knees, soaking his pants, tears streaming down his face. Kate just stood there, stoic, blank-faced. Fists clenched at her sides. The ache of grief in her chest, clawing up her throat._

_ She felt her fragile heart crack and shatter as her father sobbed. But she would not cry. She would not cry. She would be strong._

_ And then the scene changed._

_ The snow disappeared, the weather turned sweltering; her dad wasn't her dad – it was Castle. It wasn't her mother's grave just feet from her, it was hers. She was dead. Castle was crying, his face buried in his hands. Missing her, mourning her._

_ Castle's sobs were just as heart-wrenching as her father's. She wanted to do something - _anything - _to make it better. She took a step closer, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder, but pulled back almost immediately. She couldn't. She was . . ._

_She was _dead._ The tumor had taken over._

_ And Castle was clearly crushed. He fell in love with her and now he was paying for it._

_ "Kate," he cried brokenly. "Kate."_

_ No, no, God, no – _

_ "No, Castle, no," she said. Her voice rose as she continued calling for him. Her voice had to reach him. It had to. Somehow. He had to hear her. "Castle! Castle!"_

* * *

"Kate, hey," came his sleepy voice. "I'm right here, Kate. It's okay."

The dream disappeared; everything went black. She stopped shouting for him.

Her eyes opened and focused on his face. He wasn't crying. She wasn't dead. They were okay – for right now, she was alive and they were okay.

"Castle," she breathed.

He was sitting up, watching her with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, coming to her senses and offering him a small, reassuring smile. "Just a nightmare."

He lifted his arms slightly, an invitation. One she'd declined before, after a nightmare. She'd had quite a few over the last month. She considered it for a half-second before moving closer. She burrowed into his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

This nightmare was different. It wasn't about monsters or demons or invisible hands choking her.

It was real. It happened, and would happen.

"Wanna tell me about?" He whispered, running his hand up and down her back.

"No," she murmured, not offering any explanation.

"Okay," he said easily. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're okay."

She nodded and closed her eyes.

* * *

June 13, 2012

69 Days Before

"Do you think I should quit my job?"

They were sitting at his kitchen island, eating Chinese food. Alexis and Martha had disappeared some hours earlier – Alexis to go study with some friends, Martha to have dinner with a friend who'd recently returned to the city.

"Today? I thought you were hoping for a little more time."

"I was, but . . . I don't know. I mean, what would I do if I quit? I'd go crazy if I was stuck here or at my place all day, every day for the next few weeks."

For a moment, it was obvious that he didn't know what to say. She thought, for a split second, he wouldn't say anything at all.

He spoke hesitantly, as if he was afraid he'd say the wrong answer. "Maybe you should take a week to think about it. And then . . . if there's anything you really want to do . . . we can do it."

He half-smiled reluctantly.

She returned his smile, small, half-hearted, almost sad. "Sounds good to me."

And then she was quiet for a while.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur of symptoms.

Kate's doctor prescribed a drug called Decadron, for the brain swelling (_brain swelling?!_). And the tumor was definitely making itself known.

Kate's skin erupted in pale red, itchy hives. She started wearing long sleeve shirts to work to hide them. It only lasted for a few days; the heat was absolutely unbearable. Thankfully, the boys didn't comment when they saw the ugly raised bumps.

Her stomach became extremely sensitive. She was nauseas all the time and started vomiting often – usually in the mornings. Gates had to forbid her from going to crime scenes.

Her head ached constantly – had been for a while now. It was usually bearable, but one night it got so horrible that she could barely move. Thankfully, she was at Castle's loft when it happened, out of nowhere. They sat back-to-back with the couch, where she'd collapsed. He held her hand, rubbing circles on it with his thumb until the pain subsided.

She also got tried much more easily. Every day was long and exhausting. She started going to Castle's almost every night, quickly changing into one of his t-shirts and collapsing in his bed.

And then there was the night sweats. One night, she found herself overheating, sweaty and uncomfortable. She woke up Castle in a sleepy panic. He pulled off her clothes and carelessly tossed them to the end of the bed. He stumbled out of bed and returned a moment later with a cold towel. He laid it on her forehead and laid down on a fair distant away from her, on his side, watching her concernedly. She reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. He squeezed her fingers gently.

She was still sweltering, but she managed to fall asleep.

So, over all, she felt sick and miserable.

And lost. She felt like she wasting her precious time. And she couldn't help but think – _Mom would've done anything for more time._

But what? What was she supposed to do?

If she had been diagnosed two months ago, she probably would've confessed her love to Castle. Consequences be damned. She would've just given into her feelings and told him that she was dying and that she loved him.

But she already had Castle. They were very much in love, and no longer hiding it. They'd been happy this past month, in a honeymoon phase of sorts.

So what?

She didn't want to waste a second of her last handful of weeks, but she just didn't know what to do.

* * *

June 21, 2012

61 Days Before

One day, after that week had passed, she started to feel really dizzy, just standing in front of the murder board. She started swaying a little on her feet.

"You okay?" Castle asked worriedly.

"Just . . . lightheaded," she explained. "I'm fine."

"Why don't you sit down?" He didn't give her a chance to answer before he gently put his hands on her shoulders and steered her toward her chair. He lightly pushed on her shoulders and she sat.

Darkness crept in the corners of her vision and her whole body felt light.

"Kate," he suddenly said, sounding frightened. "Kate, you're bleeding."

She started to speak, but then the darkness was everywhere (or had she just closed her eyes?) and she passed out.

* * *

_A/N: Dun dun dun! What is wrong with our beloved detective? I'll give you a hint: it's not tumor-related._

_Again, sorry for the super late update._

_Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


	10. Chapter Nine

_A/N: I meant to post a week after the last chapter, but I got caught up in birthday stuff (my birthday's on Monday) and I hit a mini-snag in chapter 12, which I just finished writing. I will be posting Chapter Ten next Sunday, though. I promise._

* * *

Chapter Nine

June 21, 2012

61 Days Before

She was awake when he walked into the hospital room, offering him a small smile, not immediately registering his expression.

"Hey, Castle," she greeted.

And then she noticed the dark shadow on his face. He looked – heartbroken. Devastated. Her face fell, smile fading.

"What's wrong, Castle?" She asked as he sat in the chair at her bedside. "What happened?"

He didn't look at her when he delivered the blow.

"You, uh . . . you had a miscarriage." He said softly.

"A mis – Castle, I'm not pregnant. What really happened?" She said, refusing to believe it.

It wasn't funny. After everything her parents went through – two miscarriages before her, three after – this so wasn't funny.

Her eyes burned with tears.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispered, tentatively meeting her eyes.

No. No, no, this couldn't be happening. Not now. This couldn't –

"Castle," she breathed. "No."

He grabbed her hand, holding it tightly, clinging to it. A few tears escaped, sliding down his face.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured.

She – she lost her baby. She had been pregnant, pregnant with Castle's baby. But she lost it. She had a miscarriage, and she lost their baby.

No, no, no.

Their baby. _She lost their baby._

* * *

"Ready to go?" He asked quietly.

A few hours had passed, and Kate was ready to be discharged. Castle had gone to her apartment to get her clean clothes, the t-shirt and sweatpants she wore now.

"Castle," she started quietly. "I . . . I think I'm gonna head to my place. Alone."

"Alright," he said understandingly. "Call me if you need anything."

He stepped closer to press a kiss to the top of her head. The action was so simple and comforting, so loving, that she felt herself crack.

No. Not yet.

They stepped back at the same time.

"I'll call you later," she promised softly.

And then she walked away.

* * *

She managed not cry while leaving the hospital; she managed not the cry when the cabbie asked if she was okay (of course she'd end up with the only kind cabbie in the history of New York City) or during the cab ride home. She managed not to cry when her doorman Steve gave her a small wave and greeted her kindly. She managed not to cry when she rode the elevator with the short, bitter old lady who lived down the hall.

She managed not cry until she slowly opened the murder board in the apartment. She wasn't exactly sure why she opened it; something had just drawn her to it. An inexplicable morbid urge.

The shaking came first, her hands trembling. And then the tears, streaming steadily down her cheeks, silent devastation.

Anger bubbled up inside her. She was furious; furious at the universe for this horrible hand she'd been dealt.

She started tearing pictures and notes off the murder board. She was crying and hurt and outraged, pulling apart thirteen years of investigation without a second thought. What did it matter? What was the point? Her mother was dead and her baby was dead and she was dying and her dad was a drunk who'd never change and Castle would have to carry around her death every day and struggle to function like a normal human being for years, _years_.

"Are you happy now?" She screamed to no one in particular, the sound leaving her throat before she could stop it. "Are you happy now that I'm not?"

She tore wildly at the information until all of it was scattered across the floor and she was sobbing and shaking.

And then she roughly pulled off the boards themselves, throwing them to the ground. They skidded across the floor, away from her.

She fell to her knees, hard, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Why?" She sobbed. "Why the hell did you do this me?"

She toppled over, the weight of grief too heavy for her. She laid on her side on the floor, amongst the remains of her murder board. Too broken to get up, she pulled her knees her to chest, still sobbing.

This is what she'd been reduced to.

Maybe she shouldn't have let her walls down – would've saved both her and Castle a lot of pain. She could've died, just like that.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out.

Speak of the devil.

He was checking up on her, making sure she was okay. He knew she wasn't, maybe because he wasn't either.

She hesitated. She didn't want him to see – er, hear – her like this.

But then she remembered – it had been his child, too. He'd lost a baby, a son or a daughter, just like she had. And he was in the process of losing her.

She composed herself, wiping away her tears and clearing her throat. She pushed herself off the floor, sitting on her knees.

And then she answered.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied. "How are you doing?"

So worried about her.

"Okay." She lied. "You?"

"Okay," he echoed, and she could tell he was lying, too.

The small talk hurt more than small talk should.

A sob escaped, in the form of his name, before she could stop it.

"Kate," he breathed.

"I need you." She cried, just then realizing how much she did. She was sick of being alone. She wanted Castle. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her hair and promise her everything would be okay, even though that was a blatant lie.

"I'll be right over." He promised.

Her door was open; in her haze, she'd forgotten to shut it. Anyone could've heard her completely fall apart.

He rushed into her apartment, shutting the door behind him. He ran over to her and dropped to the floor beside her.

"You demolished the murder board," he observed quietly.

"Yeah," she said quietly. Tears were still streaming down her face and her voice was rough.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She burrowed into his chest, damaged and needy, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

"We don't even get another chance. We don't get to try again." She murmured. "We don't – we can't – "

She started sobbing again.

She'd thought she known pain. After losing her mom, her training officer, and her captain, she'd thought she knew how to deal with pain.

But the pain she felt now she was different than anything she'd ever experienced. She didn't know how to cope with it.

"I know," he said thickly, tears streaming down his face as well.

Castle.

She burrowed closer, as close as she could.

In the four years she'd known him, she'd never once considered that they'd ever be in this position – grieving parents.

But that was what they were.

She couldn't help but think how . . . funny that was. Two months ago, they were barely even partners. Castle was running around with other detectives and Kate thought she'd lost yet again another chance. That maybe it was one the last one she'd get.

And now here they were, mourning the loss of their child.

He held her tightly.

Kate calmed a little bit, enough that she could speak fairly intelligibly between sobs.

"Everything was supposed to be okay now. We were supposed to be okay."

"We are," he was quick to assure her. "We are."

She took a moment to compose herself – quieting her sobs, halfheartedly wiping away her tears – before responding.

"Castle, I lost our baby." She said quietly. "And I'm dying. I don't how it could possibly be less okay."

"You're not gone yet. You're still here now." He said comfortingly. "And I'm here."

Kate was silent, just focusing on him. The heartbeat in her ear, the rise and fall of his chest underneath her. The sound of his breathing, the feeling of his arms wrapped around her.

It was extremely calming.

They were both quiet for a while.

"I think I'm gonna call in sick today." She eventually murmured against him.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "I thought you might."

"You'll stay with me?" She whispered. She spoke with a vulnerability that was so very not Kate Beckett, beaten down and broken.

"Always."

The day was long and torturous, even though they didn't do anything.

They laid in bed all day and watched movies on the little TV in her bedroom, Kate cuddled up to him.

Kate cried a few more times, but she didn't break down again.

She napped earlier in the morning. Castle played with her hair. She looked so painfully innocent when she slept, undamaged.

They spoke, ate, and moved little all day. Their grief was all-consuming – all they could think about was the child they'd never have.

She wondered what would've happened, if she didn't have a tumor. Would she still have miscarried the baby? Probably. According to the doctor, the miscarriage was in no way tumor-related.

But . . . what if she was healthy, and their baby hadn't died?

We could've done it, she thought. She knew they could've. If only they were given the chance.

The day was long and torturous and seemingly impossible to survive, but they were together, and the night eventually came to pass.


	11. Chapter Ten

_A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys are so awesome.__  
Disclaimer: Just. Yeah. Not mine._

* * *

Chapter Ten

June 23, 2012

59 Days Before

_Kate opened the door to the loft and stepped inside. She lived there now; she didn't need Castle to let her in._

_ "Mommy, Mommy!"_

_ Kate smiled and crouched a second before a small body crashed into her, tiny arms curling around her neck. She instinctively wrapped her arms around the toddler and stood up._

_ The boy was no older than two, a skinny little thing with bright blue eyes. His dark curls were damp and he was wearing his Lightning McQueen pajamas – Castle must've just given him bath._

_ "Hey, love," Castle greeted, smiling wide. He moved from his spot at the island, walking over to his girlfriend and son._

_ He wrapped an arm around Kate when he reached her, holding her close. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, not lingering for long, but long enough for her son to start giggling (he thought kissing was sooo funny.) _

_ "Eww, kissy-face!" The little boy interrupted, kicking his spindly legs in protest._

_ Kate and Castle pulled apart, grinning at their giggling son._

_ They were a family; him, her, and the baby they'd created by accident that first night._

_ "Welcome home," Castle said softly, the love unmistakable in his voice._

_ "Home, Mommy," the boy said cheerfully. "Wel-ome home, Momma."_

_ Home._

_ Home with her family._

* * *

Kate's eyes snapped open like she'd had a nightmare, and for a moment, she was extremely disoriented.

Where was – where was her baby? Where was the little boy with those beautiful blue eyes?

And then she remembered – the miscarriage. The tumor.

The perfect little world she'd created in the dream – it wasn't real.

That adorable little boy wasn't real.

He'd never be real.

A few tears escaped, but to her surprise, she didn't break down. Her chest ached for a person she'd never know, hollow and cold, but it didn't push her over the edge.

She turned over on her side, looking at Castle, who was laying on his side, not facing her.

She scooted closer, curling her body against him, tucking her knees underneath his. She buried her face in his shirt, focusing on him, inhaling his scent.

He shifted a little, murmuring sleepily, "Kate?"

"It's okay," she whispered. "Go back to sleep. You're still dreaming."

He fell back asleep.

Her thoughts drifted to him, as they often did in their dark, quiet bedroom, while he was sleeping and she was not.

She was hurting him. He wouldn't say so, it didn't show on his face (mostly), but she knew. How would he survive . . . this? She wouldn't, that was a given, but him . . . physically, he was perfectly fine.

She didn't want to hurt him.

But it wasn't something she could avoid.

Both of them were already in too deep. Too in love.

Another tear escaped the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hair.

* * *

The next morning, Kate woke up to cold sheets and an empty bed. She laid there for a moment, blinking away sleep and sudden tears.

This needed to stop. She didn't want to spend her last months weepy and emotional. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to smile and laugh and be happy with Castle, despite her fate.

Speaking of Castle – she got up, padded into the kitchen, and saw him making pancakes.

"Comfort food?" She asked, by way of greeting.

He startled, nearly burning his hand. He turned and smiled at the sight of her.

"Good morning to you too," he said, forced happiness.

She didn't call him out on it. She understood.

She walked over to him and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "Chocolate chip?"

"Of course."

She exhaled in an amused sort of way, smiling at his childishness. She didn't need a mirror to know she was looking at him with bright, adoring eyes.

"Are they almost ready?"

"Yeah. Five more minutes."

A few minutes later, they were eating in silence. She couldn't help but think that, two weeks ago, they would've been laughing, joking, and teasing each other at this point. The pancakes would've been a "thank so much for last night," rather than the "sorry your life's been turned completely upside down and I can't fix it" they really were.

She quickly glanced up from her pancakes and immediately dropped her gaze.

He was watching her. Not in the adoring way he usually did. No, today his look was full of concern.

Did he know about . . . ?

"You had a nightmare last night."

She looked up at him again. "Yeah. I did."

"The baby, or the tumor?"

"The baby."

A nod from him.

"How'd you know?"

"I didn't sleep much last night."

"You were awake?"

Another nod.

Silence.

Their roles reversed – he stared down at his pancakes, she stared at him.

They were silent for a long time.

And then came the hourly: "How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

Her head ached; her skin was covered in horribly itchy bumps; the pancakes were already unsettling her stomach.

But she was fine.

This was normal.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

* * *

"I should quit."

Kate and Castle were watching a movie, later that night, after Kate returned home from work. The words escaped before she even thought them. They slipped past her lips with a mind of their own and settled over the two of them heavily.

He turned to her with wide eyes.

A pretty blonde on screen laughed; a high, ringing, irritating sound.

"Quit what?" He asked, even though he already knew.

"My job," she answered.

His expression was unreadable. He could be quite good at hiding his emotions sometimes, she realized.

"I . . . I think that's a good idea."

She nodded. "Maybe we could go up to the Hamptons or something. Have our . . . first vacation together." She faked a smile for his sake, the unspoken _and last_ ringing in their heads.

He spoke quietly, "Sounds good."

And he, too, faked a smile.

* * *

Gates was understanding about Kate quitting. The detective resigned without trouble or fuss – there was no throwing her badge onto the captain's desk or dramatic declarations of 'I quit.' Their conversation was actually quiet, Gates more sympathetic than Kate thought the older woman was capable of.

Kate was reluctant to clean out her desk. She could feel the sad looks thrown her way, some of them stares. It wasn't often that cops knew with such certainty that a fellow detective was going to die, and had to watch them clean out their desk.

There was a cold, horrible finality about it that Kate hated.

This was the last time she'd see the precinct. There'd be no more late nights with the boys, desks crowded with paperwork and Chinese take-out. There'd be no more theory-building with Castle. No more staring at the murder board until her eyes burned and her sight blurred slightly. No more morning coffee from the espresso machine Castle had bought at the beginning of their partnership. No more teasing from Ryan and Esposito. No more trips to the morgue to see Lanie. It was all over. It wasn't part of her life anymore.

That was a scary thought.

_Wow. _She thought, running her thumb over the letters on her nameplate. _I'm getting soft._

* * *

_Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


	12. Chapter Eleven

_A/N: You guys are so, so awesome. Thanks for the feedback!_

_Disclaimer: Same as always._

* * *

Chapter Eleven

June 24, 2012

58 Days Before

They planned to spend some time in the Hamptons – not just a weekend, but a week or two. A getaway from the nightmare her life was quickly becoming.

But then, an hour after Kate quit her job, she had another seizure at the loft. Their trip was postponed, in not so many words. They didn't really discuss it; they just came home from the hospital and never left for the beach.

The next week was bright and sunny, summery; they spent it inside. Castle pulled out his sizable collection of Disney movies on VCR and they started working their way through them. Kate napped a lot, her head in Castle's lap as he balanced his laptop expertly on his knees.

When the doctor said "a few months" – Kate expected it to happen slower than this. But the tumor was already sapping all her energy like a parasite. She definitely looked sick – her skin was unhealthily pale, growing more and more mottled with small bruises Kate couldn't explain. She had dark circles under her eyes; she'd become almost nocturnal, napping during the day rather than sleeping through the night.

And, of course, to match her frightful appearance, she also felt horrible. Headaches and nausea were constant; she was frequently attacked by dizzy spells. She didn't have the energy or will to do anything but nap, read, and watch movies. In short, she felt achy, miserable, and altogether sick.

And to top it all off: this was how she'd feel for the rest of her life.

* * *

June 28, 2012

54 Days Before

"We should go up to the Hamptons."

His gaze immediately fell to her arms, covered with clusters of ugly, irritated bumps and painted with bruises. Pale, marked, bony arms. The most obvious sign, besides her sallow face, that she was dying.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Kate." He said gently. The worry was clear in his voice – then again, there were few times in the past few weeks that he hadn't sounded worried.

"Why not?" She sat up to face him and was thankful the sudden movement didn't make her dizzy (which happened often).

"You're . . . you're really weak, Kate."

"So?" Even in her fragile state, there was the ghost of old Detective Beckett, the challenging tone and look.

He hesitated – concerned for her rapidly declining health, yet not wanting to deny her anything because of her rapidly declining health. And he'd been there to help her. What was the difference, really, between her napping in the Hamptons and napping at the loft, besides the view? _She'll be fine,_ he thought.

"Yeah. Alright. Let's go." She smiled at him, a real smile, and he couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

June 29, 2012

53 Days Before

Kate slept through most of the four-hour car ride.

She was awake for the last ten minutes, forehead against the window, staring as the beaches of the Hamptons went by.

Her eyes were closed and she was half-asleep again when Castle pulled into the driveway of his beach house. She felt the car stop and mumbled, "We there?"

"Yeah," he answered. "You go inside, I'll get our stuff."

"No, no, I'll grab something," she said, lifting her forehead from the window and hastily tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

They both brought in a suitcase, her trailing behind him. His beach house – more accurately described as a beach mansion – was _huge_. _Definitely too big for a writer and his daughter_, she thought.

Images of beautiful girlfriends immediately flashed across her mind. She remembered Gina; the terrible, unintentional rejection. And then of course her mind traveled to the thought – _there are better woman out there for him_ – healthy, unscarred, and just as wonderful as he seemed to think she was.

"You okay?"

He deserved better.

Wait.

He said something; Kate snapped out of her thoughts.

"What?" Her voice was soft, too quiet to have been listening.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She assured him, forcing a small smile.

He didn't look convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

In another life, she probably would've confessed her insecurities. But she didn't really have time for insecurities, did she?

He nodded, but still didn't look entirely convinced.

* * *

They went out to dinner.

Kate felt so very out of place. Her dress was sleeveless (Castle had found it while shamelessly searching for clothes appropriate for the Hamptons in July), exposing the rashes and bruises and her sickly pale skin.

But Castle quickly made her forget that. He held her hand, made her laugh, and suddenly this date was no different from one they would've had a month ago.

When they got back to his beach house, she took a quick shower. She emerged from the bathroom wearing one of his bathrobes (made of warm navy terrycloth and far too big for her), her damp hair pulled into a loose bun.

Castle was sitting in bed, his back against the headboard, playing on his phone. When he noticed moving toward him, he turned off his phone and placed it on the nightstand.

"Hey," he said. "How're you feeling?"

He asked her that a lot, understandably. But it wasn't like she'd gotten drastically worse while she slept or took a shower.

"Fine," she answered truthfully. Compared to how she'd been feeling the past week, she actually felt pretty good.

"Good," he said, smiling a little.

"You know, I've been thinking. . . . And I want to spend this vacation . . . like a vacation." She moved closer to the light switch.

"What do you . . ." he started, but his question trailed into nothing as she flicked the lights off.

"Kate, we can't." He said softly, almost a whisper.

She floated over to the bed and sat down by his hip. She slowly reached forward and started pulling off his shirt.

He made no move to stop her.

She pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest, and tossed it carelessly to the other side of the bed.

They stared at each other for a moment.

The atmosphere was quiet, intimate, almost tense. She could hear his breathing, and her heartbeat. Her pallid face was almost translucent in the moonlight.

"Kate, no. We can't." He whispered.

She started reaching toward him again, this time to pull off his belt.

He grabbed her wrists. "_Kate_. You're too weak. We can't."

She sighed, a sad and hurt sound. "I know."

He dropped her wrists.

She lifted her hand and slowly ran her thumb along his jaw. She let her hand fall to his shoulder, her touch feather-light as her fingers slid across his shoulder and down his arm. They brushed his fingertips and almost too late (a delayed reaction), he grabbed her hand.

She stared at him, looking so much like a ghost. Beautiful eyes wide and glimmering.

He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

Her voice, like her sigh, was quiet and sad and hurt.

She climbed off the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror, next to the dresser where her pajamas were.

She undid the soft belt of her robe and let it fall to the ground. She stared at herself in the mirror, all bruised and ethereal.

"Pretty scary looking, huh?"

"Of course not."

His answer was immediate.

She smiled slightly, small and disbelieving.

She changed into his pajamas, thin shorts and an old Spiderman t-shirt of Castle's. He put his shirt back on. She fixed her hair, more out of habit than the need to fix her hair.

As she re-did the bun, Castle came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered, "You're so beautiful, Kate."

She smiled a little.

He lifted his head and placed a kiss on her temple.

"Let's get some sleep," she suggested. "Go to bed at nine, like old women."

He smiled and took her hand, leading her back to bed.

* * *

_A/N: I'm kinda nervous about posting the last scene. It's not exactly M-rated stuff, but it is a really intimate thing and I'm a socially awkward fifteen-year-old. I know you're thinking "Just don't write it if you can't," but I felt like this scene needed to happen. Feedback is appreciated, but nothing too mean, okay? I'm still learning._

_-Ellie_

_P.S. My internet best friend Jordann (The Little Monster 1024) started writing a fic together, called_ Shattered Glass._ We posted it using her account; you can find it on her profile page, under her stories. Warning: in the story, Kate's in a relationship with an abusive man (who is not Josh or Castle, but an OC called Chris), and that could be triggering/extremely upsetting for some people._

_Okay. Bye for real now. Review!_


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

June 30, 2012

52 Days Before

She woke up to an intense blue stare.

They were both laying on their stomachs; she'd kicked off the blankets and shimmied out of her shorts during the night, so she was lying in an oversized t-shirt and black underwear.

"Hey." She said softly, lips curling into a lazy smile.

"Hi." His look burned holes in her sensitive skin. His fingers, underneath her shirt, lightly traced the line of her spine, over and over.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Mhmm."

His hand drifted away from her spine to cradle her cheek, gently running his thumb along the top of her cheekbone.

"What should we do today?" He spoke quietly, a bit roughly, still staring.

"I don't know." She matched his tone. "Hang out at the beach?"

"Sounds good to me."

He moved a little closer, propped himself up on his elbows to lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.

And she poured all the _I love you_s she'd never get to say into her eyes and smile.

* * *

She stood ankle-deep in the water, her dying body on full display in her white bikini with black spots (the only bathing suit she was able to find when they packed for the trip).

She curled her toes as the water and sand pulled away. The breeze ruffled her hair; the sun warmed her colorful skin.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She continued to stare out the waves as he whispered, "What're you thinking?"

She was quiet for a moment, then murmured slowly, "Do you think we would've brought him here?"

He, too, paused before breathing out, "Yeah."

"We would've . . . played in the waves." She said, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face.

"Chased after seagulls," he added, half-smiling.

"Built sandcastles."

"Brought him to the local beach, where he could get something from the ice cream truck."

"And he would've fallen asleep in my lap, all sticky with ice cream and covered in sand."

"It would've gotten all over you, and you would've made a face, and I would've laughed at you."

She smiled a little more, almost a half-smile.

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Do you think we could've done it? If . . .," she couldn't finish the sentence. Understandably.

"Definitely," he said. "Definitely."

"Your eyes," she said, almost a whisper.

"Your nose."

"Your smile."

"Your intelligence."

"Your imagination."

"Your bravery."

"Your stubbornness."

"_Your_ stubbornness."

She couldn't help it – she smiled. A minor miracle.

And then she was quiet.

And the smile faded.

She could picture their son so easily. Big blue eyes, a curly mess of dark hair. Skinny little arms and legs. Talking too early, and non-stop. A fearless little guy, but clumsy, very accident-prone. Charming like a Castle, with his daddy's bright smile and talent with words. Observant like a detective, always noticing the subtle things, in-tune to his mommy's mood.

Their son.

The little boy she could picture so easily without ever having met him, and never getting to meet him.

"I wish . . . I wish we could have that. Him." She whispered, as if she were afraid to admit it.

"Me too," he whispered back.

"But we can't," her voice cracked. She took a small, deep breath, a shudder almost, and said, "Our family is falling apart, Rick."

The soft-spoken words reverberated around both their heads several times; _our family is falling apart, Rick._

"Are we really a family, Kate?" Not harsh or hurtful, but . . . curious. Quietly, insecurely doubtful.

"Yes," she said, not louder but stronger, somehow. "We are. We could've been."

He was quiet for a few beats, then, "We could've made it."

She didn't look away from the ocean, but she tilted her head to the side a little so that it rested against his.

They stood like that for a while.

* * *

Kate skipped lunch to nap. The bedroom was a bit sweltering; Kate ended up in just her underwear, starfish-splayed on her stomach. The sheets were in a ball at her feet, a pillow over to her head (to block out the sunlight).

When she woke up, it was around two-fifteen in the afternoon. She got out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. She searched for something to eat, and found next to nothing (_what had Castle eaten? _she wondered). She looked at the jar of peanut in her hand, shrugged, and grabbed a spoon.

There was a part of her that knew that she looked ridiculous, standing there in her underwear, eating peanut butter. And there was another part of her that didn't care, that thought peanut butter was absolutely delicious and it was perfectly okay to enjoy it straight from the jar from time to time.

Her legs grew tired after a little while (her body was so infuriatingly weak) and she hopped up on the counter, still eating the peanut butter.

A few minutes later, Castle returned, carrying grocery bags. He walked into the kitchen and gave her a look she couldn't name. A combination of bemused and amused.

"Hey," she greeted, smiling.

"Hey. . . . I can make you a real lunch, if you want." He offered, placing the grocery bags on the kitchen island.

"Nah," she said. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

She nodded, taking a bite of another spoonful of peanut butter.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, confusing her for a moment. _Wh – a picture? Really, Castle?_

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, smiling and not sounding very apologetic it all. "I have to."

A genuine smile – a minor miracle – blossomed on her face.

He had that picture printed, after she died. He kept it on the desk in his study for years and years; it was one of his favorite pictures of her.

* * *

July 1, 2012

51 Days Before

"Wanna go for a walk?"

Darkness had just fallen outside; they weren't doing anything but sitting on the couch, her head in his lap.

She turned so that was laying on her back, looking up at him.

"A walk?"

"Yeah. On the beach."

She stared up at him for a moment, then thought, _Why not?_

And so they walked down the dark beach together, holding hands and walking in the shallow water. The waves tugged weakly at their ankles.

"Hey, Castle?" She whispered.

"Yeah?"

What she said next was said on the courage of darkness, her body dying and her mind still wondering, _Why not?_

"Will you marry me?"

* * *

_A/N: That's a Christmas present from me to you._

_If you tell me it's out of character before Kate gets a chance to explain why she asked him that, I will delete your review. She has her reasons (one of them being she's _dying of cancer_)._

_Also, I recently wrote a one-shot called 'Warehouse.' It's kinda gruesome (if you're a younger reader or get upset easily, I don't suggest you read it – but hey, if you get upset easily, what are you doing reading a fanfic about Beckett getting brain cancer?)_

_Happy holidays!_

_-Ellie_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_A/N: Hi, guys! I know I usually update on Sundays, but I got impatient after my hiatus and decided to post today! I'm glad you've stuck with me, despite my leaving for a little bit. I really needed a short break. I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

July 1, 2012

51 Days Before

"M-marry you?"

She nodded.

He looked completely stunned.

"Castle, I'm going to die." She said that so matter-of-factly, without the barest hint of fear. "And I want to make some happy memories before that happens. I . . . I want to get married. To you."

She stepped closer, hesitantly sliding her arms around his neck and resting her forehead against his head. And then she whispered into the darkness, "I love you. I . . . I want to be your wife. For the rest of my life."

"Yes," he breathed. "God, yes, Kate. I would love to marry you."

She kissed him with as much passion as she could muster. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

There was a certain magical quality about their kiss that Kate couldn't explain. Maybe it was because they didn't kiss like that very much anymore; maybe it was because there was something about magical about the beach at night. Or maybe it was because they were getting married, when only a few months ago they were barely even anything.

And then he set her down.

Their smiles outshined the stars.

* * *

July 3, 2012

49 Days Before

They were married without a ceremony; he wore a rented tuxedo, and she wore a simple, pretty white sundress. She kept getting distracted by her ring, small and beautiful; he kept getting distracted by her smile (which was, to him, even more beautiful).

On the way back to the beach house, he sat close to her and whispered the vows he'd written into her ear.

_I know I have a bad reputation when it comes to marriage. As much as I thought I loved Meredith and Gina, now that I think about it, I only married them because it seemed like the right thing to do. I never thought much of relationships, or romantic love. I like to blame it on not having a dad, and my mother having no shortage of boyfriends and husbands, but really it was just me being an ass. And then I met you. And I realized what it means to be . . . tied to someone who was so extraordinary, so challenging and mysterious and . . . exhilarating to be around. And we weren't even friends back then. I couldn't even imagine being in a relationship with you, and being married to you was . . . was one of the most unrealistic things I could've ever imagined. All I wanted back then was to know you, and be near you, and make you smile. Your smile is so breathtaking, Kate. I swear it could power all of New York. It was so hard to make you smile, though. Not one of those sarcastic smiles you know, after you just outwitted me. I'm talking about a rare, real smile. But you were so . . . unattainable and closed off. You taught me patience, and that loving someone sometimes means you have to wait for them to heal. Relationships aren't just about sex, or how good that person looks on your arm. They're about sharing your life with someone remarkable, someone who astonishes you every day with just a smile, makes your head spin when she laughs. You can't imagine not loving her, not being with her, in sickness and in health. You think everything about her is beautiful – even her flaws are beautiful, even the rashes and bruises on her arms. And when you say 'always,' you know that it's the truth, no matter what happens. Even if she emasculates you by being the one to propose._ There was a pause in which he marveled at her trademark _I-can't-believe-I-love-this-big-idiot_ grin, and then he continued._ I love you, Kate. Thank for teaching me that those three words actually mean something._

And then her lips crashed into his.

"I love you," she murmured in between kisses. "I love you so much. . . . I love you. . . . I love you."

Those were her vows.

* * *

When they got back to the Hamptons house, he put on some slow song she didn't recognize and offered her his hand.

"Dance with me?" He looked so sweet and endearing, eyes sparkling and his smile bright.

She raised an eyebrow.

"C'mon, Kate. All newlyweds have to have a first dance."

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand anyway.

They danced slowly, with their bodies pressed together and her chin resting on his shoulder. She'd had a long day of existing, and her legs were tired, so they couldn't do much else.

"I love you, Richard Castle."

"I love you too, Katherine Castle."

"Didn't take your name," she murmured.

"I like calling you that anyway."

She smiled and he kissed her hair.

"I'm glad you're my husband." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"I'm glad you're my wife." His, too.

"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you decided to stay."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be."

And then she kissed him, and he kissed her back. She pulled his tuxedo jacket off and started to unbutton his dress shirt. He pulled his lips away and grabbed her wrists.

"Stop," he breathed.

"Castle . . ."

"I'll hurt you."

"No, you won't." She said so sure of it, while he looked . . . scared. Scared of hurting her.

"Yes, I will. I don't want to hurt you, Kate."

"Castle, I'll be fine. I want this." She stepped closer, gently placing her hands on his cheeks and resting her forehead against his. She whispered, "You could never hurt me."

"Kate . . . " he breathed.

"Please, Castle."

He hesitated before kissing her again. She kissed him back and finished undoing the buttons as he gently, reluctantly unzipped her dress. His shirt fell to the floor as her dress did.

"We should . . . head to the bedroom . . ." she said quietly.

He nodded and she took his head, smiling hesitantly. And then she led him to the bedroom.

* * *

He was so gentle with her that night, so careful. She went at him like a wild animal, knowing full well that it was the last time she'd ever make love to him. He let her do what she wanted. And when they finished, she was laying on top of him, her head on his chest and his hand very, very gently drawing patterns on her back.

* * *

At some point in the night, she must've rolled off him, because when she woke up, she was laying on her back, on top of the covers. He was awake, and watching her sleep. He'd been doing that a lot the past month.

"Hey," she said groggily, smiling at him.

"God, Kate . . . does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" She tried to prop herself up on her elbows and winced in pain.

And then she realized what he meant. As gentle he had been the night before, he'd still managed to bruise her.

"I'm so sorry, Kate." He sounded so guilty. He felt absolutely horrible; he'd done that, he'd turned her skin that horrible shade of purple.

"Don't be. I'm fine. Just a little banged up."

"A . . . a little? You're covered in bruises, Kate. I hurt you."

"Castle . . ." she said, moving closer to him even though it hurt. She gently took his hand. "I don't care that it hurts, okay? I don't care. That was the last time . . ." She squeezed his hand, giving him a sad smile. Her voice grew softer, and she said in almost a whisper, "Thank you."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, then gently cupped her cheek in his hand. "I love you so much, my beautiful wife."

"And I love you, my wonderful husband."

* * *

_A/N: I hope you liked it. And I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I hope you guys have been having a wonderful 2013 so far._

_Also, if you're interested, I wrote another one-shot called _Accidents_. If you wanna check it out, it's on my page._

_Leave me a review so I know you're still here?_

_-Ellie_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

July 14, 2012

38 Days Before

They spent two weeks in the Hamptons, altogether.

It was good for her, though, he thought. He'd expected her to fall into a deep and defeated depression, him following behind her like he always was. But she didn't. By some unexplainable miracle, she was still smiling, and so he was, too.

But, of course, there were both good and bad days.

One day was particularly awful – her headaches were almost constant, but this one was the worst she'd ever had. They sat on the couch, her in his lap and screaming into his shoulder. The pain was unbearable. He held her tightly, helplessly.

"Kate," he whispered as softly as he could. "I know it hurts, but if there's anything that will make it better, you need to tell me."

She forced herself to stop screaming, breathing shallowly for a moment, and then said in a very quiet, strained voice, "Light . . . hurts."

"Okay," he breathed. "I can fix that."

He held her a little tighter and stood up carefully. The movement jostled her head, and she made a sort of whimpering noise that broke his heart.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered. "You're . . . you're okay."

She held onto him tightly.

He carried her into the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. He quickly closed all the blinds so that the room was almost completely dark, even though it was ten o'clock in the morning, and rushed back to her side.

He noticed that her cheeks were red. Did she have a fever, too?

"Kate," he whispered, laying a hand on her forehead. "Do you feel warm?"

She stared up at him with a pitiful expression.

"Yeah, you definitely have a fever. I don't think I have any Tylenol here . . . how about a cold cloth for your forehead?"

A small nod.

He left the room and returned with a cold cloth. He gently laid it on her forehead and sat by her hip.

"Better?" He was still talking very quietly.

"A little," she talked quietly too, and strained still, like someone who had the flu.

He nodded and gently ran his hand up and down her arm.

She almost fell asleep, but then the pain shot through her again. She sat up quickly, roughly pulling him to her so she could scream into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, wishing he could do something – _anything_ – to take away her pain.

After a few minutes, she suddenly cut off mid-scream. She sort of . . . melted against him, boneless and silent and vaguely shaky.

"Kate?" He breathed. "You okay?"

His only answer was her breathing growing shallow for a moment, then evening out.

And then he realized what she was doing – she was giving herself up to the pain. Not trying to fight it anymore.

"Kate," he whispered. "Kate, can you talk to me?"

"Y-yeah," she replied in very hoarse and still flu-ish voice.

"Okay, good. Is there anything I can do? What will help you?"

She just shook her head, only a little bit, again.

And so he held her until the pain went away.

But that one bad day didn't mean there weren't happy days, too. No matter how times they talked about the baby or one of the many symptoms of the tumor decided to turn up that day, she was still able to recover from it and keep smiling. It was astonishing, a perfected magic trick, to him. He'd never considered Kate to be the optimistic, happy-in-the-face-of-sadness type of person, but . . . here she was.

For example: he'd never forget the look on her face, the smile, when they watched the Fourth of July fireworks. She probably hadn't been to a fireworks show in years, he thought. She wasn't one for festivities – as far as he knew, she barely even celebrated Christmas or her birthday. It made him happy to see her so happy.

He couldn't have been more grateful.

He was so glad that she was doing okay; that she was still cheerful about little things like 4th of July fireworks.

He thought about all that – good and bad days, her being happy – as he drove home from the Hamptons, and she slept.

Somehow, his thoughts drifted to how little time she had left – how she wouldn't get another Christmas, or Thanksgiving. She'd be gone before Alexis even started college. After everything she – they – had been through, how was that fair?

But that was thing, wasn't it? Getting a tumor was rarely fair, for anyone.

He wanted do something for her, something to keep her happy. But . . . what?

* * *

July 16, 2012

36 Days Before

"You can't look yet, Kate. It's a surprise." He said excitedly, cautiously wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her forward (hoping he wasn't bruising her – he was so afraid of doing that to her).

"I hate surprises," Kate grumbled, but she didn't sound that annoyed.

He smiled.

She took several blind steps before he finally said, "Okay, you can take off your blindfold now."

She took it off and saw – Christmas?

"Wh . . .?" She couldn't even form the whole word. Shocked eyes took in the scene; the loft was decorated extravagantly in what were undeniably Christmas decorations. It was . . . kind of breathtaking, actually (though, knowing him, he probably decorated a lot more during the actual holiday).

"Christmas has always been a very important holiday in the Castle household." He lowered his voice a little, growing a little shier, a little more hesitant. "And since you'll . . ."

She squeezed his hand. She understood, and it didn't really need to be said, did it? It'd ruin the moment.

He finished, "I thought we should celebrate a little early, and have Christmas in July."

And though the word _Christmas_ usually made her think of decorating the tree for the last time that wasn't supposed to be the last time and the Christmas lights her dad couldn't bear to put away until for four whole months, all she could see at that moment was how ridiculously and wonderfully sweet her husband was.

Tears formed in her eyes without her consent – but they were happy tears, so she let them do whatever they wanted.

"Do you . . . do you like it?"

She turned to face him and threw herself into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held tightly.

"I love it," she said softly.

He kissed her hair.

And they spent the rest of the day celebrating a very Castle-esque Christmas. They made a gingerbread house (which ended up collapsing – he shrugged and they ate some of the leftover candy); he put a Santa hat on her head and insisted she sing a Christmas carol for him. He even got her present, and he put it under the tree – pajamas bottoms with little coffee cups on them. He explained, toward the end of the day, that Christmas was one of the most solid parts of his childhood; no matter where they were or how little money they had, he and his mother always celebrated Christmas. That was why it meant so much to him, and why he'd really wanted the chance to spend Christmas with her. She kissed him after that; she was touched.

She hadn't had a Christmas this wonderful in thirteen years, and it wasn't even actually Christmas.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_A/N: Sorry this is so late. I completely meant to update, and then it just . . . slipped my mind._

_Warning: this chapter gets a little . . . medical-y? That's probably the best way to put it. I've been trying to make this whole story as accurate as possible, but I'm a fifteen-year-old girl who has Google but isn't exactly sure where to look. So there may be a few medical discrepancies. Please don't judge me too harshly for them. I did my best._

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

July 18, 2012

34 Days Before

Over the next week, she grew even sicker.

Two days after pseudo-Christmas, she woke up and suggested they go into the living room and watch a movie. She got out of bed and her legs shook so badly she didn't say anything when he gently placed his hands on her arms.

"Need help?" He asked quietly.

She nodded.

They slowly made their way into the living room, Kate dragging her feet across the floor. She gripped his arms tightly.

"Only do as much as you can, Kate," Castle murmured. "Don't force yourself."

She kept trudging forward, forcing each step. He could feel her hands shaking a little bit, and she was biting her lip.

She made it out the door before her legs gave out, and he was holding up dead weight. He gently sat her down on the floor and sat down next to her.

"Why don't we go back to the bedroom? I can carry you."

She shook her head, trying to stand up and collapsing again. She laid her head on his chest and murmured, quiet and embarrassed, "I can't get up."

"It's okay. I'll carry you." He said. He picked up her – she weighed so little nowadays – and carried her back into the bedroom.

* * *

More bruises; more naps; more vomiting; more headaches; more long nights; less walking. Less moving in general.

But she was just as stubborn as she'd always been. She was determined to walk (extremely) short distances, like to the bathroom and back. Sometimes she was able to. Other times, she was just too weak. They didn't talk about it either way.

She lived off crackers; he made her try to drink and eat once a day, around dinnertime, and most of the time she ended up vomiting it into a trashcan. He always felt guilty about, but he couldn't just let her not eat. He wouldn't lose her to anything – whether it be cancer or starvation – until he absolutely had to.

She didn't take showers anymore; she took baths. He usually sat by the bathtub, watching her. It wasn't a sexual thing – it was a nervous husband thing. He was there to make sure she didn't fall asleep in the tub, which had happened before. Some days, when the headaches were bad or she was feeling particularly nauseas, he'd help her. It killed him that she wasn't strong enough to bathe herself, but he couldn't fall but smile every time she let out a little hum of contentment. The smile usually faded when he counted another bruise – how the hell was she even getting more bruises, when all she did was lay in bed?

The happiness he was so grateful for was slowing slipping away from him. She continued living with a quiet sadness and aura of darkness; he knew she was only putting up with the miserable, sick, hopeless monotony her had become for him. Enduring fevers that pulled all-nighters, unrelenting headaches, and seizures that left her too weak to do anything but stare at him pitifully – just to put off his grief.

But, though he never told her, he was already grieving. She was already gone. As cruel as that sounded, it was the truth. She just wasn't her anymore; she was a ghost.

But he loved her all the same.

A lot of people related cancer to a war; he supposed it was, for some. But for Kate, it was her versus one man – a man with a gun that was pointed at her, a few months after her shooting last year, her PTSD running rampant. She didn't have a gun; even if she did, she wouldn't have been able to fight him. All she could do was stare at him with a terrified expression until he pulled the trigger.

* * *

July 24, 2012

28 Days Before

She tried to get up, to battle her body to get to the bathroom, but several things happened almost simultaneously.

She immediately fell to her knees, and started to cry out in pain, but it was cut off by a gurgling sound and her coughing.

He was at her side in an instant. There was blood in her mouth and chin, tears streaming down her face.

"It hurts . . . it hurts," she told him, scared. "It hurts."

"Okay, okay. I think we should go to the hospital, Kate. If it hurts."

The pain must've been horrible – she agreed with him.

* * *

_Hemoptysis._

_ Aseptic necrosis._

Castle didn't know what those words meant, but they sounded bad, and the doctor looked grim.

"What . . . what does that mean?" Castle asked.

The doctor explained; _hemoptysis_ was the fancy medical term for coughing up blood. It could be treated by some sort of medicine that also had a fancy medical name. _Aseptic necrosis _was more complicated. The bone tissue of her hips had, basically, died. The doctor said they weren't going to attempt any sort of treatment because she'd be gone soon. He said she wouldn't be able to walk anymore.

He suggested Castle should buy a wheelchair.

The woman who chased suspects faster than he'd seen anyone run, tirelessly, in those ridiculous heels – in a wheelchair.

He wanted to vomit.

* * *

She cried when he told her. She cried and cried and he held her and begged every deity he could think of to tell him how to make her feel better.

She'd accepted each new symptom without complaint – the nausea and headaches and weakness. He'd faced only three breakdowns since the diagnosis, and they weren't as bad as this one (not even the one she'd had after miscarrying their baby).

She'd been beaten down, broken, by her own body rather than some faceless enemy, and she'd finally collapsed under the weight of it. She was defeated, and it was obvious in the way she sobbed into his shirt.

"It's okay, Kate. Everything will be okay. I'm here. I'll . . . I'll take care of you, Kate. I know you hate when I take care of you, but I will, I promise. I love you so much, Kate. Please don't cry. I'm here."

He didn't know how to make it better.

* * *

_A/N: Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_A/N: I know, I know. You're shocked. It's Wednesday instead of Sunday. Guess who's going to start updating twice a week rather than once? :) You can expect the final few chapters of Into the Dark (we have no more than six chapters left) on Wednesdays and Sundays._

_(Why do I believe feel like that author's note sounds weird? I don't know. Sounds awkward to me. But I'll still be updating Wednesdays and Sundays.)_

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

July 25, 2012

27 Days Before

She woke up in the middle of night, and heard crying from the bathroom.

Was . . . was Castle crying?

Even though the doctor told her not to, even though the smallest movements burned her hips, she got up and very, very slowly moved in the direction of the crying. The wheelchair he'd ordered hadn't come yet, so walking was her only option (besides ignoring his crying – which was unthinkable).

He was sitting on the bathroom floor, crying into his hands.

"Castle . . ." she said softly.

He looked up. "Oh . . . Kate . . . you shouldn't be out of bed."

"I heard you crying."

Her voice was strained; she was biting back a cry of pain.

"I'm fine, Kate." He jumped to his feet, rushing over to her. "Let me help you back to bed."

"Talk to me, first. Why were you crying?"

"You're in pain, Kate. Let me carry you back to bed, and then we'll talk, okay?"

"I can walk," she said, the ghost of the strong and stubborn Kate Beckett flashing in her eyes.

"No, Kate. You can't." She bit her lip. "Let me carry you."

"Alright," she complied quietly.

He gently pulled her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. She slid her arms around his neck. He did his best not to jostle her hips and hurt her, but it was harder than it sounded.

They sat like that on the bed, with her in his lap and her battered arms around his neck. He'd wait until she fall asleep to move her – shifting her would hurt her too much.

She pulled away, borrowing the concerned expression he usually wore. She was quiet as she waited for his explanation.

"I love you, Kate. I love you so much. And you . . . you can't even walk. Your arms are covered in all these horrible bruises that I can't explain." He ran his hand down her arm as lightly as possible. "You can't hold anything down. You sleep . . . you're only awake for three or four hours a day. You're so sick and I can't fix it. I can't make it better. I . . . I'm going to lose you." His voice cracked.

She rested her head on his chest, not knowing what to say as she tightened her hold on him. She felt a few tears fall into her hair as he held her as close to him as physically possible.

They didn't speak after that; they just held each other until they fell asleep.

They didn't sleep for long, though. Kate woke up an hour and a half later with a raging fever, her forehead burning under Castle's hand. Her cheeks weren't just pink, but a frightening shade of red. She was panting, unable to breathe, a few tears escaping as her weak body grew shiny with sweat.

He wanted to suggest taking her to the hospital, but he knew they wouldn't do any good. He gently tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and smiled reassuringly, despite how scared he was. She could barely inhale.

"Want to take a bath? That's helped you before." He suggested, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. At her small nod, he carefully lifted her into his arms and brought her into the bathroom. He sat her on the toilet lid and she swayed a little.

"Can you sit up?" He asked, concerned. She gave him another small nod. The corners of his mouth curved slightly in an attempt to be reassuring again, and he kissed her forehead.

While the bathtub filled, he gently pulled off her pajamas as she focused on her breathing. When the tub was filled and she was undressed, he lifted her into the tub.

The warm water, fever, and ungodly hour made for a very sleepy Kate, so he ended up washing her hair and body. He talked and talked in a low voice, trying to keep her awake with all the tales he could think of, from stories of a toddler-age Alexis to scandalous, unbelievable hotel adventures. She was smiling faintly as he rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. He had to bite his lip as he lifted her out of the tub, sitting her down and drying her off like she was a little kid. He wrapped her hair up in a towel and slipped her into a bathrobe before carrying her into the bedroom.

"You feeling better?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said weakly.

"Wanna brush your hair?"

"Can . . . you?" She murmured feebly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he said.

He hopped off the bed and grabbed a hair brush, fighting tears again. _C'mon, Castle, you're a man_, he told himself sternly. But how could he not tear up when his strong, badass homicide detective was too sick to even brush her own hair?

He gently pulled her hair into a ponytail and asked, "Do you want put your pajamas back on? Or just underwear and a tank top?"

She usually wore just a pair of underwear and a flimsy tank top when her temperature spiked like this.

"Underwear and a tank top," she answered, her voice just a little stronger, which was good.

He nodded, grabbed the clothes, and helped her change. She yawned. He smiled a little and squeezed her shoulder.

"Let's get some sleep."

She nodded and they laid down. She snuggled close to him, despite the fever. She was like a heater against him, but he didn't mind. He rubbed her back, happy to hear that she seemed to be breathing okay.

"Love you," she murmured sleepily.

"I love you, too," he murmured back. "Get some sleep."

She nodded and, a moment later, she fell asleep. He didn't sleep, just held her tightly, listening to her breathe. His throat suddenly closed; his eyes burned with tears again. How many more nights would they have, her curled up against him like this?

She stirred a little in her sleep, mumbling something he didn't understand, and he murmured, "Sleep, love. It's alright."

She settled.

He didn't know where the endearment had come from, but it could stay if it wanted.

He eventually fell asleep, too.

* * *

_A/N: I honestly don't know how I feel about this chapter. It's not the best thing I've ever written._

_Tell me your thoughts anyway?_

_-Ellie_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_A/N: I'm so sorry for another late update. Time really flies when you're doing nothing, huh?_

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

July 27, 2012

25 Days Before

It was her idea.

She'd felt well enough for him to wheel her into the living room to watch a movie. They sat on the couch with her head in his lap. He was playing with her hair, not really paying attention to the pretty blonde on the screen.

"Hey, Castle?" She asked weakly.

"Yeah?" He said softly.

The blonde laughed.

"We should use a surrogate."

"W-what?"

She turned over, the back of her head in his lap, and he pulled his hand away from her hair.

"A surrogate."

"Kate . . . I . . ."

She gently slid her fingers through his. "We should have a baby, using a surrogate."

"Kate, you won't – "

"I know I won't be around. That's why I want to do it. So . . . so you can have a piece of me when I'm gone."

They were both silent for a moment as he stared down at her.

He spoke slowly, as if not to insult her. "Would you want that for a little kid? To not have a mother?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I . . . I want our child to have a mother. I don't want him or her to grow up without one. But . . . that's not an option. My days are . . . are numbered." He squeezed her hand tightly, almost crushing her fingers, but he couldn't help it. "But a surrogate can have our child, and you can raise him or her." She lowered her voice, her fear slipping out before she could stop it. "And I won't be completely gone."

"Kate, you won't –"

"I'll be dead, Castle," she said softly. "But if my son or daughter is here, and they're happy, then I won't be completely gone."

He gently tucked a few strands of hair behind her, and she could see the battle in his eyes.

"You'll give them a great childhood, Castle. I know you will. You're a great father. They won't be missing out on anything. They won't feel unloved. They'll be so, so happy, even without me. "

He was silent for a few beats, choking back (manly) tears and collecting his stuttering thoughts.

"The thing is, Kate . . . I . . . I don't want to do it without you." He admitted quietly.

"I know." She murmured.

"But I . . . I . . ."

She smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry, Rick. I'm sorry we won't be able to raise a child together. But you can still raise our child. For me."

His eyes were shiny with tears – one escaped, and she reached up to gently wipe it away with her thumb.

"What do you say? Will you do this for me?" She almost whispered.

"I'd do anything for you."

* * *

The doctor said Kate probably wouldn't live to meet her surrogate. Dr. Foster gave them a moment alone, _to discuss their present situation_.

"Promise you'll go through with this?" She asked. She knew she sounded like a child, but she didn't care. She needed him to promise he would do this for her.

"I promise," he said.

She lifted her pinky, and gave him a patented Beckett Look. How could he say no to that - especially when he hadn't seen it in so long?

He locked his pinky around hers, and their promise became unbreakable.

* * *

July 31, 2012

21 Days Before

Kate's sickness grew more violent, more overwhelming, as time went on. Her hips constantly ached like an old woman's; because of the headaches, fuzzy blackness circled her vision almost all the time. Even crackers were now too much for her. She looked like a corpse, grayish skin and visible bones. When she vomited, she usually got it all over herself, and he'd have to give her a bath. She slept eighteen hours a day, and when she was awake, she was absolutely miserable. He tried to cheer up with movies and stories of their time together – all those cases, all her snark and all his wiseass comments. Those memories made her smile more than anything else, and so he told them often.

She got visitors, too. She'd been getting visitors often since she quit her job. Even though her sickness and sickly appearance frightened the boys and Lanie and her dad, they put on smiles for her. They tried just as hard as Castle did to make her happy. It was all any of them could do, really – they couldn't assure her she would get better, or promise her everything would be okay soon, because her tumor had already decided her fate.

He had only a few bits of hope – short threads of rope – that he clung to with desperation. He thought that maybe his stories and those visits could balance out her sickness and misery, that there could be a small semblance of peace in her passing.

But no. Of course not.

It was one of the rare moments when Kate was awake. They were both laying on their stomachs in bed, a little bit of distance between them. She was tracing patterns on his palm with her thumb. He was recounting their first case together for the hundredth time – that one was her favorite.

A small smile crept onto Kate's ashen face as he spoke; he lived for that smile.

Honestly, he didn't love those stories as much as she did. Thoughts of her healthy, of their banter-based and difficult-to-define relationship, weighed heavily on his heart. But she was smiling, and that was all that mattered to him.

He was almost finished with his tale – he was at _you have no idea_ – when her half-smile vanished, and a frightened look appeared in her eyes.

He paused. "– What's wrong, Kate?"

"I . . . I . . ."

"Talk to me, Kate. What's wrong?"

"I can see her."

"Who?" His heart started racing, afraid.

Kate sat up, staring at the foot of the bed. She looked terrified, and her hands were shaking. Castle sat up, placing a gentle hand on her back.

"You need to tell me what's wrong so I can help. Who do you see?"

"My . . . my mom."

* * *

_A/N: Thoughts? I thought this chapter was pretty okay, but I don't know . . ._

_-Ellie_


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_A/N: So, after this chapter, there will only be two or three chapters left, I'm sad to say. Kate has a little over a week left. My poor baby._

_ I hope you guys have been enjoying (well, the kind of painful enjoyment that comes with reading angst) the story so far, and I hope you'll stick with me until the very end._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

July 11, 2012

10 Days Before

The hallucinations were bad.

The mildest were actually the ones of her mother. He'd find her sitting her up in bed, very calmly speaking with a woman who wasn't there. There wasn't much he could do but sit with her, holding her hand or gently rubbing her back.

But Johanna Beckett wasn't the only person she hallucinated.

Montgomery showed up sometimes, and Kate was absolutely hysterical every time he did. He had to hold her down, trap her against his chest, and she begged and cried and fought him – there was no doubt she was reliving the moments before the captain's death.

The first time she 'saw' him, Castle couldn't get her to calm down. She was stuck in the hallucination. Castle panicked, and called Jim. Being with someone who wasn't in the hangar that night seemed to help her, and she eventually fell asleep in Castle's arms.

She also hallucinated the baby they lost. The first time it happened, Castle woke up in the middle of the night to sound of Kate speaking softly. He opened his eyes and saw his wife sitting up against the headboard, her arms cradled around nothing. He realized fairly quickly that she was hallucinating their baby, and moved a little a closer. He sleepily rested his head on her stomach, loosely wrapping one arm around her waist. He fell asleep to her playing with his hair and cooing happily to the invisible infant.

(Though he never told her so, her hallucination blended into his dream that night, in which she was healthy and their baby was alive.)

But it wasn't always that easy and harmless. Usually when she hallucinated the baby, it was in grave danger. It wasn't as bad as when she saw Montgomery, but it did involve screaming and crying and him having to wrap his arms around her and keep her in bed.

And with the hallucinations came . . . well, he wasn't sure what it was called, actually. Memory loss, maybe? But she remembered all the important things; who she was, who he was, that she had a brain tumor, that she used to be a detective with the NYPD.

It was the little things she couldn't remember. The word for water, the word for television, the word for hair. She couldn't recall Nikki Heat's name sometimes. The worst was when the boys came to visit, and she couldn't remember Ryan's name. She remembered him perfectly, just not what he was called. Castle had never seen the detective look so heartbroken.

It was obvious that Kate was reaching her last handful of days, and Castle was terrified.

* * *

July 10, 2012

9 Days Before

Kate was sleeping, as usual. Castle was cleaning the living room (mostly because he didn't have anything better to do, and he hadn't cleaned in there in a while). He was clearing the area around the television when he found a disk he didn't recognize. He picked it up and read the label - _to Castle_, in Kate's handwriting.

Curious, he put it in the DVD player and played it. A healthy Kate - her face not hollowed out yet, her eyes still bright - appeared on screen. She was in the bedroom of the Hamptons house.

"Hey," video-Kate greeted. "It's me. Obviously. If you're watching this, I'm already dead. I mean, that's what I'm hoping. Not that I'm hoping for death or anything, I mean . . . I hope this doesn't get to you until after I die. God, I'm so bad at this." She laughed nervously.

He considered turning it off, but he was frozen by the sight of her.

"Right now, you're out grocery shopping. I've been carrying this camera around for a while, trying to figure out what to say in this message. I think is the last time I'll be alone, so I might as well do it now. We . . . we lost our child not too long ago. And I've been thinking I . . . want to have a surrogate child with you. Hopefully, we've already had this conversation, and there's a little Castle baby on the way. So before we get to your message, I have one for him or her. You know, whenever you think they're old enough to understand what happened to me." She took a deep breath. "Okay, go get them. Pause the video."

She paused as well, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Hi. I . . . I'm your mom. And I know you've never met me, and I know it must be hard to believe I love you. I mean, I don't even know if you're a boy or a girl. But . . . you're mine. You're my child. I . . . I wanted you more than anything. Please remember that. I wanted you, and I do love you. And I want you to do something for me. Don't let your daddy get too lonely, or too sad. He . . . he made me so happy. And I want you to return the favor for me. Oh, and I want you to be happy, too. Of course. I'm hoping you get lucky and turn out like your dad, so it won't be too hard."

A tear escaped Castle's eye, and he made no move to wipe it away.

"I love you. So much. Can you get your daddy for me now?"

She paused again.

"Back. I . . . I love you. So much. You're a wonderful husband. A wonderful partner. And I . . . know you're a wonderful father to our baby."

He couldn't help it – a few more tears escaped.

". . . Thank you. Thank for taking care of me. I don't know what's in store for me, for us, but I . . . I have a brain tumor, you know? It's going to be hard. So, thank you. I love you so much. You'll be okay. Because this . . . this isn't goodbye. This can't be goodbye. And I know that doesn't sound like something Kate Beckett would say, but thinking that I'll never see you again . . ." She shook her head. "This can't be goodbye. It's . . . it's just see you later."

More tears.

She smiled sadly. "I'll see you later, then."

The screen went black.

Castle was paralyzed, rooted to the spot. She'd . . . she'd just said goodbye to him. She'd said goodbye to him, even if she said it wasn't actually goodbye.

He was startled out of his shock by Kate weakly calling for him. He walked into the bedroom and gave her a small smile.

"Hey, you're awake." His voice cracked. She sat up a little.

"What's wrong?" She asked, concerned. Even her weakened state, she was more tuned to him than anyone he'd ever known.

He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

"Castle . . ."

She left him a DVD. She left him a message, and she left their child a message. She was dying, she was going to die, and all he'd have left was that DVD . . .

He started crying.

She quickly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could.

"Don't go," he begged. _God, I sound pathetic_, he thought. But he really didn't care. Because she was dying. His muse, his partner, his wife, his best friend – she was dying. "Don't leave me. I love you so much, Kate. Please don't go."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

He held her fragile body against him as tightly as he could without breaking her, sobbing into her shoulder. She couldn't go. She couldn't leave. They were supposed to be together. They were supposed to have an actual wedding ceremony, they were supposed to raise their kid – kids, even – together. They were supposed to grow old together.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

* * *

"She made a video?" Nicole interrupts, looking up at her daddy.

"Yeah, she did," he says quietly, choked up by the memories. They're behind his eyes, in his throat, making it hard to breathe and even harder not cry.

He refuses to cry in front of Nicole.

"How come I didn't see it?" She asks. In another life, her grammar would've made him flinch.

He's quiet for a moment, then says, "How about we watch it when we get home?"

Nicole smiles and agrees easily.

"Do you want to finish the story?"

"Does Mommy still die?"

_No._ He will not cry in front of Nicole.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "She does."

Nicole nods. "I wish you could write it different. Like in Nikki Heat."

Okay, now he's crying. Just a little.

"Me too, kid."

She hugs his leg tightly, pressing her face against the fabric of his jeans in an attempt to comfort him.

The knot in his chest loosens a little.

He continues with the story.

* * *

_A/N: Oh, and also, sorry for the kinda late update. _

_I promise the last few chapters won't be so late. And you can blame_ Bones _for Kate's video._

_Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


	20. Chapter Nineteen

_A/N: Okay, Ellie, it's only Saturday. You know a snow day, but still, you should be on schedule. My lovely readers, there is a real reason I'm posting this today, rather than tomorrow. I have a question for you: do you want an epilogue? Because if you do, I'll have this posted today and the epilogue tomorrow. Or do you just wanna leave it as is? Let me know! _

_Enjoy!_

_(And by enjoy I mean cry for all eternity, of course)_

_P.S. Sorry for all the confusion. This website is so dumb._

* * *

_Daddy?_

_Silly, why are you crying too? It's nothing bad, I was just thinking of Mommy._

- Ushio and Tomoya Okazaki (_Clannad: After Story_)

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

August 20, 2012

1 Day Before

The next few days passed in a blur of symptoms – hallucinations, fevers, blinding headaches, intense dizziness, rashes crawling farther across her skin, seizures. She stopped eating altogether – he tried to get her to at least have a cracker or two, but she refused. She was a grown woman, he wasn't about to force feed her.

She coughed up blood a lot, too. He'd never forget the time she woke him up in the middle of the night with blood on her hands, in her mouth, on her lips, on her shirt, and even staining the tips of her long hair. He had to give her a bath, because she couldn't stop crying. He didn't know whether she was in pain or just scared, and it broke his heart to not be able to help her (but that was nothing new).

Her breathing grew worse, as well. There were times when she really struggled for breath, and he considered taking her to the hospital. But she begged him not to, and he couldn't force himself to force her to go.

On the upside, she'd started to make a habit of lying completely on top of him. He didn't know where it came from, but he was grateful for it. He liked having her right there, her head tucked under his.

But all in all, he was writer – he knew the last chapter when he saw it.

* * *

He still remembers the exact moment.

9:02. Kate had spent most of the day battling an excruciating headache and vomiting more than he thought possible for somebody who didn't eat. She was finally asleep, so he was making himself a late dinner.

He'd _just _taken the first bite of his sandwich when he heard Kate calling for him in the bedroom. With a sad sigh, he abandoned his sandwich.

She could barely breathe. He sat against the headboard with her curled up against him, gently rubbing her back.

"C-Castle . . ."

"Shh, Kate, it's okay. Just relax." He murmured.

"I . . . I think . . ."

"Relax, Kate. You can tell me in the morning, okay?"

She was quiet for a moment, struggling for breath. He rubbed her back, biting his lip to hold back the tears. He wished he could help her.

"I . . . l-love . . . you . . . t-thank . . . you . . ."

It took half a second for it to dawn on him. "Kate . . . not tonight, okay? You . . . you could still have another month."

He knew how ridiculously selfish he sounded, but he didn't want to lose her. _Couldn't_ lose her.

"Sorry . . ."

"Don't be sorry. This . . . this isn't your fault. I . . . I love you, too. So much. It's me who should be thanking you. For putting up with me, and being . . . being the most remarkable person I've ever known. And . . . and . . . we're going to have a baby, Kate. And they're going to be just like you, they're going to be absolutely wonderful. But because they're just like you, they're gonna drive me to an early grave."

He was rambling, but it made her smile. God, he loved her smile. What would he do without it? Without . . . without her?

"I love you so much. I . . . I'll see you later."

"You . . . you saw . . . the video?"

"Yeah, I did," he admitted, a little bit softer, not wanting to get her angry right before . . .

"S'okay. Didn't . . . hide it . . . very well . . ."

He smiled a little, and kissed the top of her head.

"I . . . I'm . . . tired . . ."

"I . . . I know you are. You've had a long day. Go ahead and sleep."

"You . . . you sure?"

He nodded, a few tears escaping. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to make her stay awake, to make her stay alive. But he wasn't that selfish. She was clearly exhausted – she deserved to get some rest.

"I . . . I love . . . you . . ."

And the last thing Kate heard before drifting off to sleep was her partner whispering, "Always."

* * *

She was still breathing when he fell asleep at about three in the morning.

* * *

She was not breathing when he woke up.

* * *

"Daddy?"

He looks at his daughter – Kate's daughter – and sees that she's crying. He realizes that he's crying too, and scoops up Nicole.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Thinking of Mommy still . . . still makes me sad. I still miss her."

"Me too," Nicole murmurs.

He kisses her head, doesn't know what to say to that.

"Mommy loved me, right?" The little girl sounds so disbelieving, and has every right to. Like the doctor predicted, Kate died before a surrogate was even found.

"Mommy loved you very much, Nicole. And she still does."

"In heaven?"

"Yeah, baby. In . . . in heaven."

Nicole nods, curling up into him, half-hiding her face in his shirt.

"Let's go home, okay?"

She nods again.

"Bye, Kate."

"Bye, Mommy."

* * *

_Epilogue?_

_-Ellie_

_P.S. There's a suspicious lack of dates in this chapter, I know. It's definitely reflective of Castle's emotions - everything blurring together. Time blurring together. Everything's confusing and chaotic, rather than the clinical deterioration that's been going on for the past few months. Does that make sense? Probably not. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway._


	21. Final Author's Note

_Final Author's Note_

_You guys are absolutely amazing. Truly, dazzlingly amazing. I cannot believe this story has gotten 320 reviews (340 if you count _Everything Eventually Ends_). I'm just . . . in a state of shock right now. I've gotten so much support and love from you guys since the very beginning, and I couldn't have asked for more. I expected a few readers, sure, but I never expected to get over two hundred people following this story and people messaging me on tumblr about it. It's just all so ridiculous and overwhelming._

_There are so many of you that have been so very loyal to my fic, and I wish I could thank you all personally, because you more than deserve it. So I'm going to say this, to everyone one of you: thank you for making this little idea I had back from before _Always_ even premiered, and making it worth it. Thank you watching it blossom into the emotionally heavy journey it has become. Thank you for making summer 2012 – the summer this story was developed and extensively rewritten – not as pointless. I love you all so much._

_And I would like to especially, especially thank the Little Monster 1024. My dear friend Jordann. She put up with so much of my crap with this universe, and my tendency to do evil things to Caskett in general. This story would not be what it is without her. She's just as much a part of _Into the Dark_ as I am. So, Jordann, thank you for my fic. I love you, my lovely internet bro._

_Again, thank you all so much. It's been a fun ride. :)_

_- Ellie_


	22. tbd annoucement

_A/N: Hello, friends! I'm just here to direct your attention to the _Into the Dark _companion I just started. You should be able to access it from my page. Check it out, maybe leave a girl a review, eh? Thank you all in advance for your support of the _Into the Dark _universe._

_Much love,_

_Ellie_

_P.S. This will probably be deleted soon._


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